


Tu m’as donné l’envie d'être moi (You Make Me Want To Be Myself)

by Dont_Stop_Larry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, F/M, Falling In Love, Heartbreak, I love yous, M/M, Mild Smut, Paris trip, Sorry again, Summer Love, and Eleanor - Freeform, mentions of Harry with nadine, mentions of Louis with Danielle, self discovery, sorry it had to happen, summer exchange program in France
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_Stop_Larry/pseuds/Dont_Stop_Larry
Summary: A summer in 2018 where another three months of the same old thing turns into adventures of the heart, mind, and body.... or the Call Me By Your Name fic that everyone's been waiting for.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, the Call Me By Your Name fic that I've been attempting to write for ages.
> 
> Wow. A whole year since I grabbed onto this idea and ran with it. I'm so glad to finally have it finished and ready for you guys. 
> 
> I want to say first that this is a loose interpretation. The setting is in France, not Italy, because I really love it when Louis speaks French (and I have a beautiful friend who was able to translate everything for me). The year is 2018, not 1980, because as much as I loved the original and the struggles they faced with society because of who and what they were at the time, I wanted this one to be a bit more modern and involve some other more personal and internal issues. The age difference is also a little less - I imagined Harry to be around 17 and Louis to be around 19/20, just because I didn't think I could do a larger age difference justice. There are some scenes where I took ideas and dialogue straight from the book or movie, so both will be credited, but there are other times that I took the idea of the scene and changed it to fit the idea of the Harry and Louis I created for this story. The end, well, you'll just have to wait and see, won't you ;)
> 
> I worked really hard on this one and I really hope you all will enjoy it.
> 
> Thank yous:
> 
> The biggest thank you goes to Sandra for translating everything I asked her to and making this fic just that much more realistic. I love you so much and thank you for continuing to encourage me to write this instead of giving up on it. 
> 
> Thank you to Chloe, who was my beta and another amazing motivator (even though we didn't know each other until I was already about halfway done with the fic itself haha)
> 
> Thank you to Armie and Timmy, who made the characters of Elio and Oliver come to life in the movie and who gave me so much to work off of. 
> 
> Thank you to Andre Aciman for creating a heartbreaking and beautiful love story that I could use for inspiration. 
> 
> And of course, thank you to all of you who read my fics and leave comments and kudos. Every single one of you mean the world to me and I hope to continue writing more for you in the future!
> 
> I love you. Thank you. L xx

It was finally summer, which made Harry both excited and disappointed. Summer was amazing … it kissed his skin to a golden brown and brought out faint light streaks in his otherwise dark curls, and he could focus on writing music, something he never had time for during the school year. But summer was long and hot, the days dragging on, and Harry couldn’t wait to be back to routine.

 

          “You graduate soon,  _ mon amour, _ [my love], _ ” _ his mother had said to him when he’d come home from his last day of exams. “You need to enjoy your freedom while you have it, before adult life comes to get you.”

 

          Harry knew he should be excited about this summer, but there wasn’t a lot to look forward to, at least until that morning, when his father had reminded him that their exchange student was coming.

 

          “Harry, please make sure your room is clean and empty for Louis,” Robin had said to him, and Harry had held back his groan. Every summer, they had an exchange student, and every summer, Harry had to give up his room, the bigger room, in favor of the smaller adjoining bedroom next door. He also gave up most of his free time, because he was usually the one showing the exchange student around and helping them make friends outside of their classes. His parents wanted their guests to have the best they could offer, and to them, that meant the best room and a tour guide in the shape of Harry.

 

          So here he was, savoring the last few moments in his own room, letting the wind fill the room with the sweet smell that always reminded him of home - the smell of salt water and freshly mown grass and baking hot sand. It was everything.

 

          He heard tires on their sandy stone road and could see the dust kicking up at the end of the long path that led up to the house. He sighed, picked up his diary, and scribbled a few words:

 

_ L’été est là, et je veux déjà que ça se termine. _

[Summer is here, and I already want it to end.]

 

          Harry looked up and brushed his hair out of his eyes as the car stopped right below his window. The sun bounced off the hood of the car in a harsh glare that momentarily blinded Harry, and once he’d blinked it out of his eyes, he got his first glimpse of Louis Tomlinson.

 

          Harry was always involved in helping his parents pick out the new exchange student. Every winter after Christmas, they would sit down together in front of the fire and go through the stack of files his father collected over the course of the Summer and Fall. Robin would read each letter aloud as pictures and portfolios went between Anne and Harry, and they would put them in two piles: Peut être and À jeter – Maybe and Discard. This year, it had been down to two prospective students. Robin really liked the look of Jeff Azoff, an American student studying Entrepreneurship and International Business.  _ Ars-en-Ré _ may have been a small town, but it was booming with business of all types, and it would be the perfect place for someone like Jeff to spend his summer. The other one was Louis Tomlinson, a student from England who had an interest in Theatre History, something that wasn’t exactly prominent in this part of France.

 

          In the end, Harry was the one who got to make the decision, because whoever they invited would be like Harry’s sibling for six weeks, and it would be Harry’s job to keep said student company and be at least one friend to them. Harry stared at their portfolios for hours, trying to look like he was making a very measured decision. In reality, he was just staring at Louis Tomlinson’s picture.

 

          It was the eyes that had caught Harry’s attention. Even through a pretty shitty picture, they were a piercing blue, beautiful and terrifying. Harry’s eyes roamed all over the picture, taking in Louis’ sharp cheekbones, the way his hair was swept perfectly across his forehead, the way he had a little cluster of freckles on his left cheek that blended right in with the light scruff that covered his cheeks and chin. Harry’s stomach did a few flips, and he let his fingertips brush against the picture, just for a moment.

 

          And now he was here, standing below Harry’s window in the bright French sunlight, smiling as he shook hands with his father and kissed his mother on both cheeks. Harry watched as his loose blue shirt rippled in the wind, lifting just enough for Harry to catch a glimpse of his tan stomach. All of the skin Harry could see was the same caramel color, which was the last thing Harry expected to see, considering that Louis Tomlinson came from the north of England, which wasn’t exactly known for its sunny days. Louis looked up, and Harry’s face flushed. He knew Louis couldn’t see him, but that didn’t change the fact that Harry felt embarrassed that he’d been watching. 

 

          “Harry,  _ viens saluer notre invité, _ [come say hi to our guest],” Anne called, and Harry jumped. Slipping his diary into the pocket of his shorts, he headed down the wooden staircase, emerging into the foyer just as Louis Tomlinson stepped through their front door.

 

          His cheekbones were sharper in person, and his eyes felt like they could burn Harry to ash with a single glance. Harry moved forward, his hand outstretched, and Louis smiled. He had the smallest hint of a dimple in his right cheek, and his eyes crinkled up. Harry felt like he was burning from the inside out.

 

          “ _ Salut _ , Louis. I’m Harry. Welcome to  _ Ars-en-Ré _ .”

 

          Louis’ smile only widened, and his smaller hand fit into Harry’s perfectly. “Hello, Harry. Great to meet you.”

 

          Harry, with a glance from Anne, cleared his throat. “I can take your bags upstairs, show you to your room, if you’d like. I’m sure you’re tired.”

 

          Louis nodded, exchanging a few words with Harry’s parents. Harry picked up a bag in each hand and headed back up the stairs, hearing the creak on every stair as though the wood was speaking to him, trying to tell him what he was already starting to suspect. He didn’t listen.

 

          Louis was in the doorway when Harry turned around after setting his bags on the floor, observing the room with a tired smile on his face. Harry moved out of the way and Louis walked inside, discarding his shoes by the closet and falling face first onto the bed. After a few moments, Harry decided he’d better leave Louis to whatever he needed to do to get settled, and he slipped through the bathroom into his adjoining room.

 

          Harry fell onto his new bed now, burying his face in his pillow for a few moments before sitting up again. He sat there, enjoying the faint sound of the birds twittering away in the trees, and the even fainter sound of waves crashing onto their beaches. Another summer. Another exchange student. That’s all this was.

 

          He stood, rubbing his hands over his face, and pulled his diary out. Settling at his small desk, he picked up his pen and started to write, the lyrics coming easily to him as they hadn’t done in months. He’d need the piano soon at this rate.

 

~

 

          “What’s for dinner tonight?” Harry asked as he entered the open kitchen, and Sandra, their cook, turned to him and made a face.

 

          “ _ Parle français, idiot, _ [speak French, you silly boy],” she said with a laugh, and Harry felt his face flush a little.

 

          “ _ Je suis désolé, Sandra,  _ [I am sorry],” Harry said back, and when he didn’t say anything more, Sandra laughed.

 

          “We’re having your favorite,  _ quiche Lorraine _ .”

 

          “You mean your favorite,” Harry retorted back, and Sandra smacked him with a towel before placing it back over her shoulder.

 

          “It’s almost ready, you’d better go wake Monsieur Louis. He won’t want to miss this meal. Off you go, now.  _ Dépêche-toi!  _ [Hurry up!]”

 

          Harry stretched, massaging his fingers, which were tired from playing piano and guitar all afternoon. He really should have gone for a swim before dinner.

 

          He made his way upstairs, trying not to make too much noise in case Louis was still asleep. He knocked softly on the door and found it ajar. Peering in, he could see Louis, still flat on his stomach as Harry had left him hours ago. Light snores were making their way past his lips, and Harry almost wanted to stand there and watch him sleep for a bit more, but he could hear Sandra setting plates out on the table outside. She’d be calling for them soon.

 

          “Louis?” Harry said, and when Louis didn’t move, he repeated his name a little louder. Louis stirred awake and looked at Harry with bleary blue eyes.  _ Still beautiful, _ Harry thought. “Dinner’s ready downstairs, if you wanted to join us.”

 

       Louis just looked at him, the words seeming to take a second to register, and then he nodded, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Harry left quickly, not wanting to linger in case Louis wanted to change or something.

 

He hurried out into the back garden and took his seat at the table, right next to his father. Louis’ place setting was right across from his … he’d be looking right at him all through dinner. Harry’s stomach flipped at the thought.

 

Louis joined them about five minutes later, just as Sandra was bringing the food out. He apologized in French and took his seat, looking a little flushed but more awake than he had before.

 

“So, Louis,” Anne said, opting to use English instead. Harry thought that was rather nice of her – she preferred to speak French. “Tell us a bit about yourself. We want to know!”

 

“Yes, please, Louis,” Robin agreed. Louis looked a bit shocked, but composed his expression quickly, saying thank you to Sandra as she placed food in front of him before beginning to speak.

 

“Well, I’m from north of England, but I suppose you already knew that,” Louis started, smiling a little bit as he continued. “I live with me mum and step-dad and sisters up in Doncaster. Pretty small town, pretty quiet life. I was surprised that I got picked for this, if I’m being honest, but I’m so grateful for the opportunity, so thank you very much.”

 

Harry really liked how Louis used his hands when he talked. His wrists looked so delicate, so perfect, so gentle. Harry wondered if his skin was as soft as it looked.

 

“Oh, well, you have Harry to thank for that,” Anne said, jerking Harry out of his stupor. Harry blushed furiously as Louis’ eyes landed on him, bright even in the darkening backyard. “He had the final say on who came, and he picked you. Guess there was something he liked about you.”

 

Louis smiled again, nodding in Harry’s direction, and Harry had to clench his teeth and ball his fists up to keep from squirming under his gaze.

 

“So tell us more. What are you going to school for?” Robin asked, his first plate of quiche almost clean.

 

“Well, I study theatre history, and I’m very-”

 

Harry stopped listening at that point, his eyes glued to Louis’ mouth. The way he spoke … the way his lips formed the words, the accent … it was all so new to Harry. He had never heard anyone with such a thick accent, and usually that just meant he couldn’t understand a word they said, but Harry felt like Louis was speaking to his soul.

 

_Non, Harry, tu ne peux pas penser comme ça,_ [you can’t think like this], Harry thought to himself. He knew that, and he was trying, he really was. He forced his gaze down to his plate, to his own food, but found that he didn’t have much of an appetite now. Nevertheless, he picked up a forkful and put it into his mouth, just for something to do.

 

_But he’s …_ _mon Dieu,_ [my god] _, he’s beautiful. Fit too_ , Harry argued with himself. He could feel his cheeks flooding with color again as he chanced a glance at Louis, who was still talking animatedly about something … Harry hadn’t been listening.

 

_No. Stop. You have to stop. He’s basically your brother, pour l'amour de Dieu!_ [For the love of god!]

 

_But he’s not, not really… You could, if you wanted to…_

 

Harry was snapped out of his inner turmoil over Louis Tomlinson by the feeling of something wet dripping onto his hand. Was it raining? He looked down as another drop hit the tablecloth. The drops were dark … definitely not water.

 

Harry stood abruptly, his hand lifted to cover his face. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Before his parents could ask what was wrong, he sprinted back inside, heading for the kitchen.

 

“Sandra… _Glace, j'ai besoin de glace,_ [Ice, I need ice]!” he called, but Sandra wasn’t in the kitchen. Opening the small freezer, he found only a large bag of ice, way too big for him to use. He grabbed a few cubes, wrapped them in a towel, and slid down the wall next to the refrigerator, holding the towel to his bleeding nose. His body was starting to tremble, a clear sign that he was probably going to cry.

 

This was so fucking embarrassing. Harry got stress nosebleeds, and he should have known that this would happen. And in front of Louis, too, of all people …

 

“Harry? You alright?”

 

Harry froze, feeling the tears welling in his eyes. It was Louis, he knew it was. But Louis couldn’t see him like this.

 

“Umm, yeah, I’m fine,” Harry called, trying to keep his voice steady and calm.

 

“You ran away pretty quickly … you sure?” Louis’ voice was getting closer, and Harry could see his shadow in the dim light.

 

“ _Oui_ , yes, just a small nosebleed. I’ll be ok.” Harry cringed as he admitted it, but if Louis was bothered or disgusted by it, he didn’t say anything. Harry heard his footsteps getting fainter, and the back door swing open and then shut. Harry buried his face in his knees, groaning. This was a great first impression, really.

 

Harry rejoined the table ten minutes later, avoiding eye contact with Louis and shoveling the rest of his now cold quiche into his mouth. Thankfully, his parents never ran out of questions, and that kept Louis busy talking to them instead of paying Harry any attention.

 

When they headed up to bed, Louis gave Harry a little wave before he went into his own bedroom. Harry walked into his room, let the door slip shut behind him, and fell face first onto the bed, rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling. He stripped laying down, leaving himself in just his striped boxers, and listened as Louis did whatever he was doing in the bathroom to get ready for bed.

 

“Louis …” Harry whispered to himself in the darkness. “Louis … Louis …” He liked the way the name sounded on his tongue. Very French. Very … Louis. He vaguely wondered how it would sound if he was moaning it instead of whispering it.

~

Harry woke to the sound of birds outside his window and the ever-present sound of waves. He opened his eyes, slightly disoriented. It took a moment for him to realize that he was, in fact, not in his own room, and then it all came rushing back to him. Louis, his eyes, his cheekbones, his skin, his voice, his everything.

 

Harry gasped as the sheets shifted on his body, and with one quick glance down, he knew why. It had been a long time since he’d been worked up like this.

 

_He’s an exchange student. Nothing more. Ressaisis-toi,_ [get a grip], Harry thought, repeating it like a mantra as he stood up. The bathroom light didn’t appear to be on, and he hadn’t even bothered to check what time it was, but he still knocked softly on the door, just in case.

 

As he stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting his back and waking him up a little bit, his thoughts drifted, as though by a magnetic force, back to Louis. If this was how the whole summer was going to be, it was going to feel twice as long.

 

~

 

A few hours later, when Harry finally walked out through the kitchen to the garden, everyone was already seated at the table, having breakfast. Harry’s eyes found Louis at once, but as everyone turned to look at him, he averted his gaze. If he was going to treat Louis like just another exchange student, he had to start now.

 

The place setting for him was next to Louis this time, and Harry took his seat, saying good morning in French to his parents and Sandra and then, quietly, so his family didn’t hear, he said it in English, meant only for Louis’ ears. Glancing sideways at him, Harry could see the small smile that lit up his face.

 

“Harry, finally. We were hoping you wouldn’t sleep the morning away,” Robin said, sipping his coffee. Harry reached for the plate of chocolate _crêpes_ , pulling two onto his plate. Sandra made the best crêpes in the world. Harry’s mouth was nearly watering just at the sight.

 

“We figured today would be a great day for you to take Louis into the city. You can show him the sights, the good places to eat, and he can find where he’s taking his classes,” Anne suggested, and Harry shrugged.

 

“Yeah, I don’t mind. Is he gonna ride my bike?” Harry studiously avoided looking at Louis, but he could feel him sitting there, so close to him. Harry pinched his own thigh, almost missing his father’s answer.

 

“No, he can take mine, and you can take yours. I had Jacques pump up the tires on both bikes.”

 

Harry nodded in response, his mouth full of chocolate so delicious, he thought he might pass out. Sandra had really outdone herself today.

 

“I think I’ll go shower. Thank you, for the tea and everything. It was all quite ... thank you,” Louis said, looking a bit awkward as he stood and walked away. His parents didn’t seem to think anything of it, but Harry sat there, munching on his second _crêpe_ and thinking about Louis. He seemed so put together for someone so young, though Harry was even younger, but he seemed to have a soft side too. It was almost like there were two people living in his body, one trying its best to bury the other with over confident smiles and proper words. As much as Harry liked being around the one, he was almost overly curious about the other.

 

~

 

Harry hopped on his bike and waited to make sure Louis was following him before taking off down their drive and towards the road into town. The wind whipped his curls off his face, cooling his skin in the humid heat. He wore only a loose t-shirt and swim trunks, his usual attire for summers, but Louis was back in his blue shirt from yesterday and khaki shorts. He hoped wildly that he’d get to see Louis in something a bit more casual soon.

 

He turned his thoughts off then and slowed his pace down so that Louis was riding right next to him. His job was to show Louis the beautiful town that he’d be calling home for the next few months. That was it. Nothing else would enter his mind today. He would do as he was told and keep it at that. It was hard, though, to keep his thoughts focused when Louis looked as casually amazing as he did.

 

The waves got louder and the road beneath the tires of their bikes became covered in sand as they reached the outskirts of town. Harry took a deep breath in – he loved the smell of the ocean. Harry led Louis down some back roads between the buildings, and then they emerged into the main square of _Ars-en-Ré_.

 

Harry hopped off his bike and took it over to the small rack by the fountain, and turned to see Louis looking around, almost in awe, as he dismounted his bike. His eyes were wide, drinking in every ounce of bright sun and blinding white buildings and greeny-blue water off to the right. His mouth was slightly open as he spun in a circle, and then he seemed to come back to himself, clearing his throat as he put his bike up next to Harry’s. Harry wanted to say something, anything. He felt like Louis was holding back, but he wasn’t sure what yet.

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry said finally, and Louis nodded, offering Harry a smile that he returned.

 

“Very. I’m happy to be here.

 

They were silent for a bit longer, Harry allowing Louis a moment to really look around and see where they were and admire whatever he wanted.

 

“So … where are you taking me?”

 

Harry, taken aback by the sudden question, looked over at Louis, right into his eyes. It was like he too had looked into the sun, but instead of seeing yellow, all he saw was blue.

 

“Umm … where do you want to go?”

 

“Everywhere.”

 

Harry took Louis everywhere, just as he requested. They went to _Clocher d’Ars_ and spent almost an hour surveying the interior of the little church. Louis’ fingers lingered on the stone, almost as if he was trying to feel the history in the walls. They went to _Port de Saint Martin de Re_ , where hundreds of boats were in various states of being tied up or going out for a sail on the water. Louis, like Harry, seemed to love the smell of the sea, because he couldn’t stop drawing in deep breaths, his smile never leaving his face.

 

Eventually, Harry heard Louis’ stomach rumbling, and he tugged on Louis’ sleeve, leading him towards a little restaurant close to the square, which they had come back to minutes before. _Palace épicerie_ was one of Harry’s favorite places to eat when he was in the city, though he didn’t come very often. His parents usually invited the people at the neighboring estates to join them for dinners or dance parties or volleyball tournaments, and everyone turned up every time. There was never a need to venture into the city when you had everything and everyone you could want, but Harry had to admit, he did love it here. The bustle of people, the relaxed atmosphere, the ocean and the food carts and the restaurants and the flowers all mixing together in one heavenly smell that made Harry tingle from head to toe.

 

They were welcomed warmly, and Harry asked for a table in French. They were escorted out back to a small table with a little umbrella, where a few other families were sitting, chatting away animatedly in French.

 

“ _Merci beaucoup,_ [thank you very much],” Harry said kindly to their waiter, and he nodded, placing menus down before them before walking away.

 

“This is so nice, Harry. Thanks for bringing me,” Louis said, smiling and looking around a bit before training his eyes on his menu. Harry already knew what he was getting – he got the same thing every time, which his mum thought was ridiculous, but Harry had never tasted anything better than the Chicken _Basquaise_ here.

 

The waiter came back then with two glasses of water, and Harry was surprised to see that it was tap water, not sparkling. The waiter winked and mouthed the word “foreign” before walking off again. Harry took a sip of his water and looked over the rim of his glass at Louis. Louis’ brow was furrowed as he read down the list of dishes. His bright eyes scanned the words, and Harry could almost see his brain going into overdrive trying to translate everything. The sun was bouncing off his shiny hair, which was messy and falling into his eyes. Louis licked his lips a few times in concentration, and Harry sat back, his glass still in his hand, just … admiring him. There really wasn’t any other word for it, and why shouldn’t he be allowed to admire something so beautiful? It didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t.

 

~

 

After lunch, Louis found the building that would be holding his classes, and Harry showed him an easy way to get there from his backroads. Then it was back to the estate, where upon arrival, Louis insisted that he was boiling and needed a swim. Harry wasn’t about to complain about that. While Louis ran in to change, Harry greeted his parents, who were sitting in the garden talking to the neighbors.

 

“Did Louis find where he’s to go tomorrow?” Anne asked as Harry’s lips brushed her cheek.

 

“Yeah, it was pretty easy.  _ Bonjour, _ Monsieur Léopold, Madame Léopold,” Harry said kindly, greeting the neighbors.

 

“ _ Bonjour _ , Harry. Nadine is out over there with the others. She asked about you,” Madame Léopold said, and Harry nodded.

 

“I may say hello later. I’m about to go for a swim, actually.”

 

“Louis is joining you, I suppose, yes?” Robin asked, taking a puff from his cigarette, and Harry nodded again.

 

“Yeah, he went up to change. Said he’d be right down.”

 

Harry bid farewell to the four adults and stripped off his shirt, heading for the small pool on their property. They weren’t too far from the beach, but Harry felt like the beach was an all-day trip and opted instead for their private pool most days.

 

As he sank into the cool water, he looked over at where a majority of the people his age were hanging out. They were down by the water, tanning. If Harry squinted, he thought he could see Nadine, her bikini top undone as she lay on her stomach. Harry had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Nadine was nice enough, sure, and she was gorgeous. Her parents had been trying to get them together since he was old enough to know what that meant. He supposed that, in the right setting and at the right time, he could like her, even make out with her a little, but that time hadn’t come. She was one of those friends that you called your friend because they weren’t extremely important, but they weren’t a stranger. They were somewhere in that grey area, the time right between when the sky was dark and when that first ray of sun burst over the horizon, turning a world of black and white into a world of dazzling color. But right now, he didn’t want to focus on Nadine or anyone else. He just wanted to lean his head back and soak up the sun.

 

Louis joined him ten minutes later with a book in his hands and sunglasses perched on top of his head. He had a shirt on but took it off almost as soon as he reached the small table next to the pool, laying his phone on top of it. Harry tried not to watch, but it wasn’t like he had anything to distract his mind from Louis’ very tan, very muscular torso.

 

Louis scooted over around the edge of the pool, his green swim trunks riding up his thigh. Harry huffed out some air, forcing his eyes away from Louis and up to the trees. See, trees could be pretty. Very pretty and calming and not at all arousing.

 

It was silent for a while, the breeze making the leaves rustle over their heads. Louis had taken to swimming back and forth in the small expanse of the pool. Harry felt the current of water slap his upper chest every time Louis passed him. Eventually, Louis hauled himself out of the water and lay down on a towel on the edge, the sunlight making the drops of water sparkle on his body.

 

“So … what do you do here, in the summer, I mean?” Louis mumbled, turning his head so he was looking at Harry. “It seems pretty chill, not at all stressful, but there’s probably more to your day than showing my ass around.”

 

Harry laughed. “Actually, it’s pretty simple. We have parties sometimes, we play volleyball, we go to the beach, and sometimes I go with the other kids into town for drinks. But yeah, that’s it, really.”

 

Louis nodded, and Harry got the feeling that Louis had actually listened to what he said, instead of just asking a question to seem interested.

 

“I figured, but I meant for you. What do you do here?”

 

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. No one had ever really cared what Harry did, as long as he didn’t run off or drown or drink too much or smoke too many cigarettes. “I … umm, I write music? Just silly stuff, lyrics and chord progressions. Sometimes I play them on the piano, if I’ve got a melody I really like.” Harry clamped his mouth shut, realizing he was already rambling, but Louis didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he seemed very interested. He had sat up and was looking right at him, anyway.

 

“You’ll have to play something for me sometime.”

 

Just that simple sentence had Harry grinning like an idiot. He tried to hide it, turning his face away so that his wet curls covered his face, but Louis had already seen, if his even wider smile was anything to judge by.

 

“And you? What are your plans, other than school?” Harry asked, feeling a little more relaxed. Louis made him feel a confusing mixture of nervous tension and complete ease and comfort, which Harry wasn’t sure he liked too much, but right now, as the sun was starting to set, sat here by Louis at their little pool, he was happy.

 

“Well, school is only three days of the week. Assuming I get all my work done while I’m in the city, I hope to just relax, work on my tan, maybe, make some friends. And listen to your music, of course,” Louis added with a smirk.

 

“Doesn’t look like you need much work on your tan if you ask me,” Harry mumbled before he could stop himself. Suddenly the peaceful atmosphere was tense. Harry’s throat felt tight as he scanned Louis for any sort of reaction, but Louis was still smiling as if Harry hadn’t said anything at all.

 

Harry looked up as he heard Sandra striding across the grassy backyard to them, her apron already on and fluttering in the wind.

 

“Almost time for dinner, _les garçons,_ [boys],” she said, smiling at both of them. “Is there anything special I can get you to drink? We’ve got _limonade, eau, thé_ , or _du vin._ [lemonade, water, tea, or wine].”

 

Harry looked over at Louis, who had a look of complete confusion on his face, and as he looked up at Sandra, Harry saw the same expression of something similar to shame or embarrassment he’d worn that morning. Suddenly understanding, Harry turned back to Sandra.

 

“ _Deux limonades, s'il te plaît,_ [two lemonades, please], _”_ he said, blowing her a kiss. Sandra scoffed but smiled back anyway, heading back towards the house. Harry turned to Louis then.

 

“Lou … can you speak French?”

 

The nickname, which had been a complete accident, didn’t seem to bother Louis at all, but he didn’t seem all too comfortable with the question.

 

“I … I mean, I took French in school. Got good marks too,” Louis said, almost defensively. Harry felt bad for even asking, but Louis continued in a lower voice, “I was just always more into theatre and history than I was at learning a new language. And when I got accepted to this exchange program, I tried to brush up. Learned a few simple phrases, but I guess I underestimated just how many people would be speaking French fluently and expecting me to speak back to them.”

 

Harry didn’t want to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. “Louis, it’s France. How did you not see that coming?”

 

Harry thought Louis would be angry, thought that he might even walk away and refuse to talk to Harry for the rest of the summer, but his face softened, and he started laughing too. “God, I’m an idiot. Really didn’t think this one through, did I? Me mum’s gonna be after me when she hears about this.”

 

“Well, you know, I’m pretty fluent in French. I could teach you, if you wanted,” Harry offered. The words came out so softly that he wasn’t even sure Louis had heard him, but the way Louis’ eyes widened hopefully told him the opposite.

 

“Really? You’d do that? I figured you’d be spending time with your friends, or whoever.”

 

“If I’m being honest, I’m not really good friends with anyone here. They’re here and I’m here and we get along, but most of them are… Well, they’re… _Ils_ _sont un peu coincés et ennuyeux._ [a bit stuck up and boring].”

 

Louis laughed, a loud, high pitched sound that had Harry’s stomach doing flips. “I’m not completely sure what you said, but I’m sure you can teach me that one later. I just figured you wouldn’t want to be hanging around the “ward” all the time.”

  
“Eh, you’re pretty alright,” Harry responded off-handedly as the dinner bell sounded. Louis stood, balling up his towel and tucking it under his arm. Harry pulled himself out of the water, watching Louis walk away. He couldn’t help but think that Louis had been flirting with him just then, not a lot, but just enough to catch Harry’s attention. Harry fought off the thoughts that threatened to dominate his mind as dried himself off and hurried after Louis.


	2. Part 2

The week passed uneventfully, unless you counted Louis pulling away from what Harry had thought was the start of a friendship. Harry had woken every morning and gone down to breakfast with his family, and then, if Louis was not in the city attending classes, spent his days in the private pool with Louis, teaching him French phrases as the sun warmed their skin and water droplets trailed down their backs.

 

But now, as they entered the second week of Louis’ classes, Harry was sensing a shift. It was like the sudden drop in temperature when the sun dipped behind a cloud – every time Louis looked at him, he felt a sudden chill. The brilliant blue eyes that had just a week before held such wonder and fascination were now dull and almost lifeless. When they ventured to the pool, Louis had his nose buried in a book and didn’t make conversation. Harry was strangely thankful for Louis’ standoffish behavior – it gave him so much writing material. Lyrics flowed from his brain to the pages of his diary faster than they ever had, but none of them held happiness and hope as they had always done in the past.

 

He snapped his diary shut just a particularly strong gust of wind soared through the trees, and Louis’ eyes flickered up momentarily before returning to his book, his eyelashes casting shadows on his already prominent cheekbones. He hated this. He hated that Louis had been in his life for less than two weeks and he was already under his skin, an itch he couldn’t and almost refused to scratch **.** _Tu ne peux pas l’avoir, tu ne peux pas l’avoir, [You can’t have him. You can’t have him]_ , Harry repeated in his mind as he stood up. He’d made up his mind. If Louis was going to be like this, fine. He wasn’t going to sit here and take it.

 

“We’re having a party tonight, Louis. Just so you know. Make sure you’re dressed and ready. We have to look _intelligent_ [smart].”

 

Harry was lying, just a little, but for some reason, he wanted Louis to make a bit of a fool of himself. He was acting just like every other exchange student had – like Harry was some easily ignored piece of furniture instead of an actual person. Harry would show him. He would show Louis exactly what he was missing.

 

~

 

The party had already started and Harry had already had two drinks and a cigarette before he caught a glimpse of Louis. Louis had followed his directions to a tee and looked very out of place in a white button up and a pair of shorts that only reached to mid-thigh. No one seemed to mind, though, and Harry knew why. Louis was a _étranger_ [foreigner], and no one expected him to know how casual the dinner parties were in France. Harry’s plan was already failing.

 

“ _Bonjour_ , ‘arry,” said a female voice in his ear, and Harry turned his head slowly to face Nadine Léopold. She looked stunning in the glow of the setting sun – her skin was like silk, pale and perfect, and her hair was catching the flickering light of the candles placed all around the back yard. Harry felt nothing. He supposed that he should. She was a beautiful girl who liked him a lot, and under all normal circumstances, that should have been enough. But the emptiness, the complete lack of attraction to her, was nothing compared to the swooping feeling every time he looked at Louis or even heard his name.

 

But Louis wasn’t there with him. Louis was off in the crowd, probably getting fawned over by all the pretty filles françaises [French girls] _(et garçons_ [guys], if Harry was honest). Harry wasn’t supposed to have any sort of feelings for his father’s exchange student. He knew what he had to do.

 

“ _Viens danser avec moi, Nadine,_ [come dance with me],” Harry asked kindly, and Nadine’s cheek flushed a rosy red as she placed her small hand in his. Harry pulled her onto the dance floor and held her close, but his eyes were scanning the crowd for a familiar fringe of caramel hair and high cheekbones. When he failed to find them, he released Nadine and beckoned for her to follow him back to his table. He lit up another cigarette and Nadine settled herself in his lap, her dress riding up her pale thigh as she attempted to get comfortable.

 

“Harry.”

 

Louis’ voice as he said his name sent shivers down Harry’s spine, despite his attempts to distract himself. Every word Louis uttered was like the zing of citrus on the tongue. Harry’s eyes found Louis in the darkening yard.

 

“ _Magnifique_ [beautiful],” he mumbled.

 

“ _Qu’est-ce que tu as dis ? Je n’ai pas entendu,_ [What was that? I didn’t hear you],” Nadine said, and Harry tore his gaze away from the blazing blue eyes.

 

“I said _tu es magnifique, mon amour,_ [you’re beautiful, love],” Harry repeated, leaning up to press his lips to her warm cheek. His eyes found Louis, but Louis was already turning away, disappearing into the crowd as the sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving the party goers in candlelight at last.

 

Harry didn’t feel the sense of triumph he thought he would after Louis’ departure. If anything, he felt worse.

 

“ _Excuse-moi, je dois aller me coucher,_ [Excuse me, I must be getting to bed], _”_ Harry said swiftly, and Nadine stood, brushing her hair behind her ear and batting her eyelashes. Harry ignored her and made his way into the house, closing the door and muting the sounds of happy people outside.

 

“ _Pourquoi est-ce que je me sens comme ça?_ [Why do I feel like this]?” Harry muttered to himself, starting to climb the stairs. The creaking of the wood sounded louder now, more insistent than it had on the day of Louis’ arrival. It was getting harder for Harry to ignore.

 

Once alone in his small bedroom, Harry pulled out his diary and, after stripping down to his boxers, lay back on his bed, his pen set on the page. His mind was spinning, but when he looked down at the previously empty page, several words were scratched there in his own handwriting.

 

_ Je ne comprends pas pourquoi on dirait que je suis en train de tomber amoureux. _

[I don’t understand why I feel like I’m falling.]

~

“I’m having some friends from school over,” Louis said abruptly as he and Harry sat out by the pool on a particularly sunny day. Harry hadn’t expected him to speak. They hadn’t really exchanged much other than pleasantries since Harry had paraded Nadine around like a doll. He felt terrible about it now. He knew he shouldn’t have, but his mind and his heart were very confused, more so than they had ever been, and at the time, it had seemed like the perfect revenge. Now, however, it seemed like the perfect way to break more than one heart at a time.

 

“Oh?” Harry said quietly, not sure how to respond to that. He studied his surroundings instead, looking for a source of inspiration that wasn’t blue eyes and caramel skin.

 

“I want you to meet them.”

 

If Harry hadn’t caught the last bit of Louis’ words, he may not have believed that he’d said them at all. As it was, he sat there for a few moments, staring at those eyes and those cheekbones and that small amount of stubble that hadn’t yet been shaved away.

 

“Umm, why?”

 

Louis sighed and finally turned his body to fully face Harry. Harry felt a rush of something hot and fiery zip through him as Louis’ swim trunks, blue this time, rode up his thigh, exposing more skin to the hot French sun.

 

“Because you’re _mon ami_ [my friend], Harold, and I think they’ll really like you.”

 

Harry just stared at him for a moment more before forcing his attention back to his diary. Louis was so _compliqué_ [confusing]. One minute, they’re _meilleurs amis_ [best friends], the next they’re _étrangers_ [strangers], and then he comes out of the blue talking about Harry meeting his school friends? It made no sense.

 

But, it wasn’t like Harry was going to ignore this chance to finally spend time with Louis. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his mind from straying to Louis in any spare time he had, and he’d much rather be around him, when it was, in Harry’s mind anyway, more acceptable to be thinking of him at all.

 

“Alright, yeah. Sounds like fun. What time are they coming?”

 

“Tonight, ‘round 8. I’ve already asked your parents, they said it was a great idea. Introducing everyone to the French style of summer living and all that.”

 

“Right. Okay,” Harry responded, and it was only a few more moments before the uncomfortable silence that had been following Harry whenever he was around Louis for the last few weeks enveloped them yet again. His pen began moving across the page again, scribbling another one liner to add to the fifty or so that Harry had already written.

 

_ Je ressens la moindre de ta gentillesse au plus profond de moi, et pourtant tu sembles si loin. _

[I feel even the smallest amount of your kindness in my very bones, and yet you seem so far away]

~

Harry walked with his parents down to the beach that night, where Louis and his friends had already gotten a fire started and had set hundreds of tiny candles around their area of the sandy bank. There were other people there apart from Louis’ friends – their neighbors had all been invited as well, so it would be like a proper party instead of an exchange student get together.

 

Louis had said that he’d come find him later, but right now, Harry didn’t see him anywhere. There were several people he didn’t recognize, and who he knew must be Louis’ friends, but no Louis.

 

It wasn’t until later, when the firelight was the only thing lighting up the beach and the party, that Harry finally found Louis. The music had started about an hour ago, but Harry hadn’t felt much like dancing, choosing instead to sip on his third drink of the night and settle down on the sand, his back up against a rather large rock.

 

But as he looked up, wondering if he should just give up and head back to the house, his eyes fell on a beautifully curvy body, hips swaying to the music and head thrown back in ecstasy. Harry so wished he could admire Louis in all of his natural beauty, but it was quite hard to ignore the girl very nearly plastered to his front.

 

Harry supposed she was pretty. Her dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and her skin was smooth, tanned from the sun. Her eyes were bright, and her lips were full, something that any man or woman would be lucky to find on another person. But she didn’t shine nearly as brightly as Louis. Though Harry had only known Louis for a few short weeks, he had never seen him as anything other than polite and collected. Now, however, Louis was loose and uncaring, and she had her hands all over him.

 

Harry watched as Louis dipped his head down, whispering something in her ear, and her face lit up. Louis spun her around until her back was to Harry, and then leaned in to brush his lips against hers. Harry wanted to feel nothing. He wanted to feel indifferent. But his heart and his mind were not on the same page and hadn’t been ever since he’d first laid eyes on Louis.

 

He was about to leave, having had just enough of their gentle touches and sneaky kisses, when Louis’ eyes found his. Even as he kissed her, his blue eyes bored into Harry’s, making Harry feel like he was drowning, sinking with no way of saving himself. He didn’t know what to do. So he left.

 

He got up and didn’t look back once, walking up the small path that gave way to soft, green grass. He reached the kitchen and placed his glass carefully next to the sink, knowing Sandra preferred to wash all dishes by hand. He leaned up against the counter, his head dropping back to rest on the cabinet. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get a grip on reality? Louis had never even said he was gay or had any interest in boys. Then again, Harry had never said anything either, but it was clear by the stirrings of jealousy unfolding in his stomach that he wanted something that he wasn’t supposed to want.

 

“Harry, _qu’est-ce que tu fais là ?_ [What are you doing in here]?” came a soft voice, and Harry opened his eyes to see Sandra entering the kitchen, her hand snaking out to flip on a small light by the sink. Harry wasn’t sure what to do. He could lie. He could say he was going to bed. He could say that he felt ill. But he knew that Sandra would see right through his lies. She always had. Maybe that’s why Harry liked her so much. He couldn’t hide from her, so he didn’t feel the desire to.

 

“Sandra… _Je crois… Je crois que je suis en train de tomber amoureux,_ [I think… I think I may be falling in love],” Harry said, rubbing at his face with his hands.

 

“ _Ah. De Nadine? Tes parents vont être ravis,_ [Ah. With Nadine, then? Your parents will be pleased],” Sandra replied, winking at Harry, but Harry shook his head furiously. He wasn’t even sure how to say it out loud. He had never told anyone. Not his parents, not his sister, no one.

 

“ _Non. Pas de Nadine_ , [No. Not Nadine],” he started, but his throat was tight now. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t get the words out.

 

“ _Alors… De Louis?_ [Louis, then]?” Harry choked, his eyes nearly bugging out, and Sandra merely rolled her eyes, beginning her nightly wipe down of the kitchen. “Oh, please,” she said in English, waving a hand. “I knew before you knew. Why else would you have chosen a theatre person over a business person?”

 

“No, no, Sandra, it wasn’t like that, I didn’t-” Harry was babbling now, not even sure if words were coming out of his mouth in English or French or some other language, but Sandra cut him off.

 

“It was a little like that, as you say.” Her voice became soft then, and she spoke carefully, laying a hand on Harry’s arm. “It’s okay, you know. To like men. To want to be with men. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

“I… I know that,” Harry said defensively, but he still appreciated Sandra’s words. It was like she was taking the weight that had been on his shoulders for several years now and helping him carry it. Everything seemed a little lighter, a little brighter, and little less confining. “I don’t know what to do, Sandra. _S’il te plaît, aide-moi. Je n’ai pas envie de me sentir comme ça._ [Please help me. I don’t want to feel like this].”

 

“There’s nothing you can do, Harry. Let it happen. Let yourself feel. Because if you don’t, you’ll spend eternity wondering. Isn’t it better to try and fail than to not try at all?”

 

Harry felt sad now, and tears were filling his eyes. He wasn’t even sure if it was just Sandra’s words or the whole situation, or finally admitting the feelings he’d been containing for weeks, but he felt overwhelmed. “ _Et s’il ne me désire pas ?_ [What if he doesn’t want me]?”

 

Sandra had finished wiping the counters, and she put her hands on Harry’s shoulders. She was looking up at him – he’d grown so much over the last year that he nearly towered over her – and her eyes were kind and understanding. “He will, _mon amour_ [my love]. It may not be in the way you expect, but you’re special. He’d be an _idiot_ [fool] not to realize.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And if he doesn’t, then that’s his loss and his mistake. And you’ll move on.”

 

Harry nodded, glad that Sandra was ignoring the tears on his cheeks. He didn’t think he could stand to be comforted right now. “ _Merci_ , [Thank you],” he whispered, pulling her into a hug, which she returned. As he left the kitchen and headed for the stairs, he heard her voice call after him one more time.

 

“ _Va dormir, mon coeur. Demain matin, tu sauras quoi faire._ [Sleep, my love. In the morning, you will know what to do].”

 

Harry wasn’t so sure.

 

~

Harry hated that he was still thinking of Louis at every possible moment, even though he was perfectly aware that Louis was not thinking of him. It was now a rare moment that he and Louis were in the same room, and Harry felt like he was being slowly crushed as Louis continued to pass by him every day without a single word. He thought he understood – Louis was clearly happy with this girl, if his actions at the party had been anything to judge by, but then again, why had he been so focused on Harry when he was kissing her?

 

_Le ferme, s’il te plaît,_ [Please shut up,] Harry told himself constantly, and for a little bit, things started getting better. He could focus at mealtimes instead of constantly avoiding the searing blue gaze. He could go to the pool and write and find inspiration in the trees and the wind and the sun. It was almost like every other summer – except it was different in every possible way.

 

It was the peak of summer, and the sun was beating down on Harry’s backyard, which was full of people. Louis had invited his friends from school, and naturally, his parents had invited seemingly everyone else in _Ars-en-Ré_. A game of _volley_ [volleyball] had commenced outside, and Harry was watching from the open window of his small bedroom, his diary balanced on his knee as words came to him.

 

_ Un ciel ensoleillé comme la lumière dans tes yeux _

[Sunny skies like the light in your eyes]

 

_ Délicate et lumineuse. _

[Delicate and bright]

 

_ Tu ne me désire pas, mais moi je te veux, tellement, que cela m’effraie. _

[You don’t want me, but I want you, so much it scares me]

 

He sighed and snapped his diary shut, shoving it under his mattress. The smell of sweat and sunscreen and the sea mixed with the shouts of delight and disappointment was too distracting. Harry pulled on his swim trunks and a worn tank top and headed downstairs, through the kitchen, and out into the back garden.

 

Down here, out in the heat, the energy felt more charged than it had from upstairs. Everyone was playing to win, and there was much cursing in several languages that had Harry struggling not to laugh. He tried not to focus too much on the bare chests of the boys and the scantily clad bodies of the girls. Harry immediately stripped off his own shirt and tossed it to the ground, walking around the edge of the makeshift court to sit with Nadine and her friend. As he approached, he could hear them talking.

 

“ _Il est mieux que le gars qui est venu l’année dernière_ [He’s much better than the guy who came last year],” Nadine muttered, her cheeks flushing pink as her eyes landed on Louis’. Harry did his best not to let his gaze follow hers.

 

“ _Carrément. Regarde comme il est mignon._ [Most definitely. Look how cute he is],” her friend responded, watching with interest.

 

Harry only let his gaze drift towards the players when there was a shout of delight, but he wished he hadn’t. Louis was there, in his green trunks again, the sun almost sparkling off his tanned skin, lifting the brown-haired girl he’d been with the night before into his arms and spinning her around in victory. Harry forced his gaze away and headed over to a table, where Sandra had provided fruit and water for everyone.

 

“Harry,  _ apporte-moi de l’eau, s’il te plaît, _ [Harry, bring me the water, please],” one of his neighbors called, and Harry walked over, holding out the water to him, but suddenly, it was no longer in his hand.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that, lads, need a drink,” Louis said, his accent thicker than it usually was, and his hand resting on Harry’s shoulder. It would have been fine, just a platonic touch, if Louis’ hand hadn’t tightened, his fingers digging into Harry’s skin, and Harry felt extremely self-conscious at that moment. Louis’ defined abs were right there, within touching distance, and Harry only had to glance down to see the baby fat that still clung to his hips and his tummy. He couldn’t take it… He had to get away.

 

He ducked out from under his hand and took a few steps away, trying to focus. It was just a touch, just a balance for Louis, nothing more. It meant nothing.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Louis asked, and Harry’s eyes snapped onto him. He was glowing – literally glowing, the sunlight making a halo around his flyaway hairs, and Harry felt like he was breathing in fog.

 

“No, no, I’m fine,” Harry insisted, praying that his voice was steady. Louis didn’t seem to believe him. He stepped closer, holding out the water to Harry.

 

“Hold this for me, would ya?” Harry took the bottle and nearly dropped it immediately, because both of Louis’ hands were on his shoulder now, his fingers kneading expertly into the muscle of his shoulder.

 

Harry felt like his entire body was on fire, and that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. A furious battle was taking place inside his head – he never wanted Louis to stop touching him like this, but he couldn’t let this happen. He was so caught up in everything that he began to harden in his trunks and had to force himself to not immediately cover it up. Louis’ touch was too much… It felt too good.

 

“You’re so tense, love.”

 

Harry shook his head and once more pulled himself painfully away from Louis’ hands. “M’fine,  _ merci _ [thank you], Lou.” The nickname slipped past his lips before he could stop it, and Louis’ blue eyes widened just slightly.

 

“Louis, come on! It’s your serve!” The brunette was calling for him, but Louis’ eyes didn’t waver from Harry’s, and Harry would have given anything to let himself melt under Louis’ gaze.

 

Louis finally moved, his eyes now focused over his shoulder as he grinned. “Coming, Danielle. Just needed a drink is all.” He hurried off to his game without another word, and Harry had to uproot himself from the ground, running back inside before anyone saw him acting like a fool.

 

He was almost through the kitchen when he heard a scoffing noise, and he skidded to a halt, spotting Sandra watching on through the window. She didn’t say anything, but she had a look in her eye that told Harry she’d seen everything. Harry ignored her and took the steps two at a time, desperate to be alone to sort through his mess of thoughts.

 

His diary back in his hand, he settled with his back against the wall, directly under the window. And it was only then that he allowed himself to reflect on the moment he’d shared with Louis. It had been normal, almost like nothing had ever pushed them apart, but Harry knew that wasn’t the truth. And then there’d been those few seconds where time had frozen around them, where Louis had shown the side of himself that Harry knew was in there, the one he was desperate to know, and he had almost reached for it. He had been seconds away from taking Louis’ hand or brushing his fingers against the exposed skin of his waist, and Louis had broken it. He’d run back to his friends and his life as if the moment had not existed, and Harry wasn’t sure how to interpret that.

 

He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds drifting up from the game. He listened to the voices and the shouts and the birds and the distant sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, and he let the words appear on the pages of his diary, unsure of what they meant, but knowing who they were for.

 

_ Tu me troubles, mais être dans le flou, c’est mieux que d’être rejeté  _

[You confuse me, but confusion is better than rejection]

 

_ Mon rêve est de caresser ta peau avec mes doigts _

[My dream is to map out your skin with my fingers]

 

_ Une lutte sans merci se joue en moi, mais tu es mon seul moment de lucidité _

[A merciless fight is playing out in me, and you are my only moment of clarity]

 

~

 

Harry moved between his bedroom, the kitchen, and the music room for the rest of the day. He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but he was avoiding Louis, and luckily for him, he managed to dodge him at every possible moment. It wasn’t like Louis was thinking about him at all, if Harry was being honest with himself. He was too absorbed in his friends and his new girlfriend to want much to do with Harry at this point. Just like all the others.

 

When night fell, Harry stared up at the ceiling, the light from the moon filtering in through his window and bathing the room in a faint glow. The tranquil feel of the room was in complete juxtaposition to the turmoil inside Harry’s head. At least he’d figured out one thing – his feelings for Louis were real and they weren’t going away. Now he just had to figure out how to deal with them.

 

It took him until the early hours of the morning to finally drop off to sleep.

 

~

Harry could hear the bell from the large church in _Ars-en-Ré_  and the faint sounds of laughter, and he turned his head towards the open window, where the sun was casting a golden glow through the trees. He was sure that everyone was out on the beach today. The heat was only increasing as the summer continued, and all Harry wanted to do was sink into an ice bath.

 

As he stared at the minimal view out the window, he allowed his mind to wander, and of course, his thoughts were immediately dominated by one person in particular. He couldn’t help it. Louis was just… He drew everyone to him without trying. He had this beautiful personality that was infectious. Everyone craved for his attention because it was the most desirable, and Harry understood the need to have Louis’ eyes on him more than anyone realized.

 

His hand, which had been resting on his stomach, moved slowly down to the waistband of his boxer shorts. He’d taken to wearing them, just in case Louis accidentally walked into his room instead of his own, but right now, they were just a useless piece of fabric in the way of his ultimate destination.

 

The first sensation of his fingers on his bare cock had a sigh escaping his lips, and he tugged on himself, his eyes slipping closed as images of Louis flooded his mind. Louis arriving all those weeks ago, his blue shirt blowing up in the wind to expose the even, caramel expanse of his stomach. Louis smiling as Harry tried to teach him French those first few days before Louis began his classes. Louis playing _volley_ with his shirt off, sweat glistening off the defined muscles of his chest. Louis in short blue swim shorts, the wet fabric riding up as he settled himself on his chair after a swim…

 

There was a noise in the hallway, and Harry had less than a second before his bedroom door was banging against the wall and Louis was stepping into the room.

 

Harry whipped his hand out of his pants, rolled over, and grabbed for his diary, opening it to a random page and pretending to read it over. His eyes flickered upwards, taking in a shirtless, sweaty Louis before him, and his half hard cock twitched, pinned between his legs as he rested on his side on top of the covers.

 

“Hey. What are you doing?” Louis asked, and his voice sounded neutral enough, so Harry could safely assume that he hadn’t noticed anything.

 

“Reading,” Harry mumbled, tracing his finger over the words he’d written on this particular page to make it more convincing. The fact that the words were related to Louis’ body wasn’t helping.

 

“How come you’re not at the beach with everyone else?”

 

It was only now that Harry closed his diary and gave Louis his full attention. “Umm… Just didn’t feel like it, I guess. Slept badly last night, just wanted a lie in, you know?”

 

Louis’ eyebrows creased for a second, and Harry thought maybe, just maybe, Louis felt bad for him. But it was gone in an instant, his sharp, pretty features rearranging themselves into his usual, calm expression.

 

“I understand.” There was silence for a beat, and then, “Well, why don’t you and I go swimming, then?”

 

Harry stared at him. These days, it wasn’t often that Louis paid him attention, and now he was suddenly asking him to go swimming? Alone? Just the two of them? It was like a weird _déjà-vu_ , and Harry struggled to respond.

 

“Right now?” he said finally, looking up at Louis, and Louis responded by making his way around the end of his bed.

 

“Yes, right now. Come on,” Louis said firmly, reaching for Harry’s hand and pulling him up into a sitting position. It was then that Harry remembered his little issue, and he did everything he could to cross his legs without being obvious. Louis’ eyes flickered over his body for a mere moment, and Harry just wanted to be left alone to attempt to deal with his rebelling body.

 

“Do we have to go now?” Harry protested weakly, but Louis’ grasp around his wrist was making his head go fuzzy. Louis’ tan fingers wrapped around his pale wrist was like sun and moon – complete opposites that depended on each other in a cosmic way that only science could explain.

 

Louis smiled, and Harry felt like a star in their precarious little galaxy had gone supernova in his chest. “I’ll go get changed.”

 

Louis let him go and walked through the adjoining bathroom to his own bedroom, and Harry let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He looked down at himself and saw that he was still hard, but he ignored it, falling back onto his pillow with a muffled groan. He was making a right _imbécile_ [ass] of himself right about now, and Louis must have noticed. He hated himself sometimes.

 

He finally pulled himself out of bed and stripped out of his boxers before heading towards the bathroom. He was slowly going soft as shame settled in his chest, and he was about to snag his trunks out of the shower when he caught sight of Louis.

 

Louis clearly hadn’t thought about closing his door, and Harry hadn’t planned on seeing him naked, but here they were. Louis’ back was to him, but Harry could clearly see the swell of his ass, his skin tone slightly fairer than the rest of his body. He tugged on his trunks and turned, and Harry became very aware that he was naked and staring at Louis as he dressed. He looked away at once, pulled his slightly damp trunks from the edge of the bathtub, covered himself up, and went back to his room to change. He made sure to close and lock the bathroom door behind him.

 

~

 

Harry felt the sun burning the skin of his back, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was outside at their private pool, strumming chords on his guitar with his diary open on his knee. Louis was next to the pool, basking in the sun, his red trunks sticking unfairly to his legs. Harry tore his eyes away as Louis cracked open an eye, focusing on the chord progression of a tune that had been in his mind for several weeks. He still didn’t have words to go with it yet, but he loved figuring out the music almost as much as the lyrics.

 

He frowned in concentration as he scratched notes into the makeshift staff he’d drawn on the page earlier, but the chords just weren’t enough. It wasn’t living up to its full potential.

 

He stood up abruptly, heading around the small line of bushes and through the back door to the music room. Leaving his guitar on its stand, he settled himself at the old baby grand piano.

 

The wood was peeling from the top of it and some of the ivory keys were chipped. It was his favorite instrument that his parents owned. It had a story, and it had lived so many lives before coming to them, and Harry felt like every time he touched the keys, he was making a new story that someone else would wonder about years in the future.

 

He put his diary up on the music stand and pecked out the chords he’d written down, adding some embellishments and letting his fingers dance over the keys. It had been so long since he’d properly played anything.

 

“Sounds nice, Harry,” came a voice from behind him, and Harry whipped around to see Louis leaning against the doorway, just watching. Harry could see where the sun had kissed Louis’ skin, and, though he tried not to notice, the thin strip of paler skin above the waistband of his swim shorts. “What was it?”

 

“Oh, just… Something I wrote, I made it up. Nothing big.” Harry blushed furiously. No one outside his family had heard his music, not even Sandra. Harry kept it a closely guarded part of him. His art was for his eyes and ears only. But here Louis was, standing there like a gorgeous  _ tournesol  _ [sunflower] in the glow of the afternoon, and all Harry wanted to do was play more for him.

 

“It didn’t sound like nothing. It sounded vaguely like Bach. Or maybe Beethoven. Can’t remember the difference, really.” He let out a chuckle and Harry rolled his eyes, but he was hopelessly endeared.

 

“It wasn’t like either of them. If Bach had played this, it would sound like this.” Harry placed his hands on the piano once more and launched into a more complicated version of his piece, adding trills and so many notes that he wasn’t even sure how he was keeping up with his mind.

 

He finished and pulled his hands away with a flourish, but now his brain was working overdrive, a whole new world of possibilities opening up to him.

 

“And this would be a little more like Mozart,” he muttered, slowing down the melody in his mind and stretching every measure into the next, losing himself in the music. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his bare shoulder that the music faded away, and he was brought back to reality.

 

He turned and looked up into Louis’ face. His eyes were a blazing blue, the sun making them look light, like the sky outside. Harry could feel Louis’ breath on his face, and for the first time since meeting him, he almost gave in to his desire to know what Louis’ lips felt like… If they were as soft as he’d always imagined.

 

“ _ Les garçons, le thé est sur la table, _ [Boys! Tea is on the table!],” Sandra called, and Harry jumped, pulling himself away from Louis’ touch and standing up, fiddling with a strand of curly hair that had fallen into his eyes.

 

“Guess we should…” Louis said, nodding his head in the direction of the garden, and Harry might have been crazy, but he sounded a little disappointed.

 

“Yeah.”

 

They didn’t speak for the rest of the day, and Harry spent another restless night tossing and turning in his bed.

 

~

 

Harry’s parents insisted he get out of the house, as he spent the next few days either sleeping or holed up in the music room, writing. And it just so happened that Louis was going on a boating trip with his exchange friends. So, naturally, Harry had been asked to attend, and of course, he’d said yes.

 

He’d been on the boat less than a minute before the brunette, Danielle, if Harry remembered correctly, had glued herself to Louis’ side, and he’d done nothing to stop it. He had disappeared, leaving Harry to find his way to the food alone.

 

Harry was now settled in one of the empty chairs at the back of the boat, alternating between sipping his drink and smoking his last cigarette. None of the exchange students spoke fluent French, so while they mingled and danced – Harry could hear the music and the faint sounds of laughter – the staff walked around the deck, gossiping about them in rapid French. It was the only thing that Harry was enjoying right now, because their discussions and stories gave him temporary relief from the all-encompassing enigma that was Louis Tomlinson.

 

Harry was sure now that he hadn’t been crazy. Louis had this strange way of covering it up so that Harry was convinced he didn’t see it, but it had happened too many times to be a coincidence. Louis liked him, or at least had some sort of feelings for him. He had to. There was no explanation for his soft touches, his lingering gazes, his ability to worm his way into every moment and thought of Harry’s life without even trying.

 

Harry had never been one to deny his emotions, but it was still strange to him. He hadn’t really paid much attention to men before Louis had arrived, but now he found himself noticing things about men that he usually only reserved for the girls he hung out with. He noticed the curve of their waists, the delicacy of their wrists, the confident way they walked, the way their hair touched the back of their necks. But all of that had come to pass because of the one person he couldn’t stop thinking about.

 

He wondered if he was going crazy, but the only moments this summer where he’d felt calm and collected and happy had been when Louis was with him, talking to him, laughing beside him. No girl or guy had ever made Harry feel like he was tingling all over from one touch. Not a single person had ever entered his dreams the way Louis had. No one had been the subject of every lyric he’d written, and yet almost all of the words he’d jotted down over the summer so far had been related to Louis.

 

But then again, how could Louis like him? How could Louis possibly feel the same for him when he was somewhere on the other side of the boat with his girlfriend – Harry didn’t really know if they were together or not, but it seemed pretty obvious, even if they weren’t official. He had brought Harry to not one, but _two_ events with his friends, and he had ignored Harry both times in favor of spending it with Danielle. It wasn’t hard to figure out who Louis would rather spend his time with.

 

Harry pretended that it didn’t hurt. He stood up and swallowed his pain as the boat docked. He had no trouble spotting Louis in the crowd, but he turned his head away as Louis’ lips found Danielle’s.

  
He had no right to be jealous. Louis wasn’t his. He never would be. And Harry would just live with his feelings for the rest of the summer until Louis was gone. It was the only thing he could do now.


	3. Part 3

Harry didn’t talk to Louis about how alone he’d felt on the boat. Louis didn’t talk to Harry about what had happened with Danielle. They both pretended like it had never happened. On a positive note, Louis was treating him like a close friend again, and Harry would take whatever he could get.

 

For the first few days, they sat by the pool together, took walks together, and just talked about everything from music to food to new French phrases and theatre history.

Harry’s lyrics were becoming more bold, more confident, as his feelings for Louis solidified and stewed inside him, but sometimes, the pages represented something closer to that of a middle school crush.

 

But, as the week went on, Louis began to spend more time in the city, more time with his exchange friends, leaving Harry to swim and write alone. Harry hated that he cared so much. Louis was an adult who could do what he pleased. Harry just wished it was with him instead.

 

So there he was, early on Friday morning, watching the sunrise through his window. Louis hadn’t come home last night, and Harry had spent yet another restless night, wondering where he was, who he was with, what he was doing.

 

He couldn’t stand the silence anymore and decided to head down for an early breakfast. As he made his way down the wooden stairs, however, Louis’ voice stopped him in his tracks.

 

“ … stayed in the city with Danielle. I just wanted to explain why I didn’t come home.”

 

Harry’s stomach dropped, and he almost missed what his father said. “ _Ah_ , _oui_. _Tu t’es bien amusé avec ton amie, hein ?_ [You had a bit of fun with your foreign friend, eh]?”

 

“ _Oui_ ,” Louis said with a laugh. Harry had heard enough. The anger and jealousy rose in his chest as he made his way back to his room, though he knew he had no right to feel either.

 

He pulled his diary out from under his mattress and flipped to a new page, his mind and hand working fast and furious as he poured out his feelings in words.

 

_ Aimer, même sans être aimé en retour, est mieux que de ne pas aimer du tout _

[To love unrequited is better than to not love at all]

 

_ Peut-être aurais-je dû jouer Debussy au lieu de Bach _

[Maybe I should have played Debussy instead of Bach]

 

_ Désirer quelque chose que l'on ne peut pas avoir, ça donne encore plus envie de l'avoir. Je veux tout avec lui. _

[Wanting what you can’t have makes you want it more. I want everything with him]

 

_ Mes sentiments ne s'arrêteront pas. Ils ne peuvent pas s'arrêter. _

[My feelings won’t stop. They can’t stop.]

 

_ J'ai été naïf de penser qu'il pourrait m'aimer. _

[I was naïve to think he would ever like me.]

 

_ [Ce que tu désires et ce qui est bon pour toi sont deux choses différentes — parfois il faut suivre son coeur et non ce que ta tête te dit.] _

[What you want and what’s right are two separate entities — sometimes you need to follow your heart instead of your head.]

  
  


He finished and threw his pen to the side, the words smudged slightly in places where a few tears had landed on the old paper. He stood up, diary in his hand, and walked quickly through the adjoining bathroom to Louis’ room. The bed was made, clear evidence that no one had slept in it that night. There was a pair of green swim trunks hanging by the window. The air was clean and fresh, bearing on it the faint smell of the ocean and grass and sun, and something else that Harry had never been able to quite place. It was Louis, all Louis, and Harry was drowning in it.

 

Harry heard the creak of the stairs and knew he had only seconds to make this decision. He threw his diary onto the middle of the bedspread, the book falling open to the pages containing his feelings for Louis and hurried back through the bathroom and into the hallway before Louis reached the top of the stairs.

 

Harry tried not to look at Louis as they passed each other, but it was impossible. Louis had this aura that demanded attention in the most subtle of ways, and Harry couldn’t look away.

 

Louis met his eyes for a second, and Harry felt his throat tighten as he realized what he had just done. He’d laid it all out, and there was no going back. Louis’ eyes glanced over him for a moment and then he turned away, heading into his room and closing the door. Harry tore his gaze away and made his way down the stairs and through the kitchen, bypassing his mom, dad, and Sandra as he made his way to the garden. He just wanted to be alone.

 

~

 

They didn’t see each other for the rest of that day. Louis had only come home to grab his books and a change of clothes, and then he was back to the city for class. Harry spent his day on the beach, walking aimlessly back and forth, his hands feeling empty without his diary.

 

As the days stretched on, Harry wondered constantly if he’d done the right thing, and if Louis had even read it. Louis hadn’t approached him and wasn’t acting like anything was different in any way, but Harry still felt uneasy. Maybe Louis hadn’t even read it. Maybe he’d closed it at once and just left it in his room. Or maybe he had, and he’d seen it as so childish and pathetic that interacting with Harry any further than they had all summer was not going to happen.  

 

That’s why Harry was so surprised when Louis came down to the pool, where Harry was lounging alone, and asked if he wanted to do a bit of shopping in town.

 

“ _ Pourquoi moi? _ [Why me]?” Harry asked, hoping that his casual use of French wasn’t going to upset Louis, but Louis just smiled lightly.

 

“ _ Parce que tu es de bonne compagnie. _ [Because you’re good company],” he said back in an accent that made Harry’s whole body feel like jello. How could he say no to that?

Their bike ride into town was quiet. Harry took the opportunity to take everything in – the wind in his hair, the sound of their tires on the dirt road, and the ever-present smell of the sea as they neared the docks and the town.

 

They parked their bikes at a bike rack near a small fountain. It wasn’t the center of town – there was a large church that marked the town square, but Harry liked it here better. It was quiet, out of the way, but still breathtaking.

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Louis said, looking around in awe. Harry smiled, taking a seat on the cement of the fountain and tilting his face up to feel the sun on his skin.

 

“Yeah, it is. This fountain’s been here for ages. The history on it is kind of unknown. Best kind of history, if you ask me.”

 

Harry watched as Louis made his way around the fountain, walking slowly and letting his fingers trail over the cement, almost in wonder.

 

“Why’s that?” Louis asked, and Harry opened his eyes, bringing his gaze around to land on Louis.

 

“Because all other history is set in stone. Someone wins. Someone loses. Someone dies. Someone fights a war. Someone built something for a specific purpose and that’s the only story it ever gets. But this fountain, it’s special. No one knows who built it or why. It can have as many stories as it wants. Having the freedom to be whatever you want to be? That’s beautiful.”

 

Louis nodded. “Pretty wise thing you just said. I’ve never thought about it that way. Is there anything you don’t know?”

 

Harry gave a short laugh, letting his fingers dip into the cool water of the fountain, coins from all over the world sparkling at the bottom. Symbols of hope, wishes, promises. All things that Harry couldn’t afford to have or make. “I don’t know anything.”

 

Louis stopped walking again, staring Harry down, and Harry stood up, suddenly not feeling like sitting anymore. “So you just said all that about history and the beauty of being free and you’re trying to tell me you don’t know anything?”

 

Harry shook his head. He should have known this conversation would go this way. “Not about the things that matter.”

 

There was a silence between them, and Harry stared around for something, anything, to change the precarious subject they were too close to touching on. But there was nothing.

 

“What things?” Louis asked, cocking his head, and Harry sighed. This was it. No going back. He either brought it up or let this tension sit between them, and the second option was killing him.

 

“You know what things.”

 

Louis looked at him, the casual smile that was always present on his face vanishing in an instant. That’s when Harry knew. He knew that Louis had read the words he’d written for him, about him. And the thought terrified Harry. He looked away.

 

Louis walked a little further around the fountain, so he was almost gone from Harry’s view, but came back a few steps. “Why… why are you telling me this?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Because I thought you should know?”

 

“Because you thought I should know…” Louis phrased it, not like a question, but more of a statement, and Harry amended his words quickly.

 

“Because… I wanted you to know.”

 

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. Saying it out loud, admitting it to himself and to Louis, made him feel free. He repeated the words over and over again, walking around the fountain until he was face to face with Louis.

 

“I can’t say this to anyone else. I can’t talk about it to anyone but you.”

 

Harry couldn’t read Louis’ expression, but his eyes were wide, trying to comprehend, and Harry could only hope for something good to come out of this.

 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Louis said, finally seeming to have come up with the right words. Harry opened his mouth to respond – here was his chance to say everything he’d been thinking for the last few weeks: _I’m falling in love with you, Louis. I want to kiss you, Louis. I want everything with you, Louis_.

 

But the words wouldn’t come, so he simply nodded his head, hoping it would suffice. Louis sat down on the fountain and ran a hand through his hair. He stood up just as quickly, pressing his lips together.

 

“Harry, we… we can’t talk about these things.” Harry thought he heard a bit of hesitation in his voice, but Louis cleared his throat. “We just can’t.”

 

Harry had known all along what Louis’ answer would be. That didn’t stop it from hurting. It hurt because they were here, all alone, and could have confessed everything to the empty sky. It hurt because, even when Harry had known the outcome, hope had never abandoned him.

 

But Harry wasn’t ready to give up. He wanted one more chance. So he made his way back to his bike, hopped on, and looked over his shoulder. “ _Suis-moi, Louis._ [Come along, Louis].” Hoping that Louis was behind him, he headed off down a side street, letting himself get lost in the whooshing sound of the wind in his ears.

 

Their path turned sandy as they made their way out of town. Harry could feel the scent of the salty sea getting stronger, could feel the breeze on his hot skin, and the closer they got, the more excited he became. He hadn’t been here since the summer had started, and what better a person to show this place to than Louis.

 

Harry hopped off his bike and threw it to the ground, pulling off his socks and shoes as he scrambled over the sandy hill. He could hear Louis’ steps behind him as he made his way through some trees and emerged into a small lagoon. It wasn’t completely surrounded – there was a small area where the water made way to the sea beyond, but it was perfect. Harry waded into the water until he was up to his knees and turned his face up towards the overarching tree branches. The sunlight filtered through them, dappling the water with spots of gold.

 

“This is my place. I’m the only one who knows about it. I come here to write… The amount of songs I’ve written here…” Harry turned to see Louis walking slowly towards the water, his mouth open in a perfect little ‘o’ as he stared up at the trees.

 

“It’s so beautiful – _nom d’un chien_ [holy shit]!” Louis yelped as he stepped into the water, letting it wash up over his ankles. “It’s freezing,” he elaborated, and Harry laughed. For some reason, the tranquility of this place washed away all of his doubts and fears and disappointments. The world outside was a dreamland, and this was his reality now.

A few hours later, Harry found himself laying on his back next to Louis on the beach. He listened as birds called in the distance and as the water washed up onto the sand, just a few feet away from where they lay sprawled against the soft sand.

 

“God, I love this,” Harry said at last, breaking the peaceful silence. He turned his head to look at Louis for a moment. The light from the sun was making Louis glow in a strange golden green light.

 

“What?” Louis asked, sounding sated and tired, his voice rasping a little bit. Harry felt that rasp down to his bones.

 

“Everything,” Harry responded in a near whisper.

 

It was silent for a few moments more, and then Harry felt Louis shift beside him. Suddenly, long, delicate fingers were on his skin, just barely caressing at his cheek. It was a touch lacking intent, bordering on pure curiosity. Harry turned his face to Louis and watched as, with wide blue eyes, Louis’ fingers moved to his lips. Harry parted them, and Louis let his finger slide inside, touching Harry’s tongue momentarily. Harry could taste the salt water on his skin. Harry felt it all over his body, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss Louis right now.

 

Harry sat up, facing Louis’ fully. Louis’ hand was still on his cheek, cupping it lightly, and Harry moved forward another inch or so until their noses were touching. He was sharing breath with Louis now, his heart pounding a quick rhythm against his chest. Louis’ breath stuttered, and then their lips were pressing lightly together. They kissed for an agonizing two seconds, their lips parting only for a moment before Harry moved in closer for a second kiss.

 

He felt Louis’ hand on his chest, and Louis shook his head as he pushed Harry away. Harry rolled onto his stomach so he didn’t have to look at Louis. He felt elated and broken all in one. Louis’ lips were thin, but soft and inviting. He tasted like sunshine and salt and Louis, and Harry wanted more.

 

“We probably shouldn’t,” Louis said softly, but Harry knew he heard hesitation in his words. Louis wanted to feel that just as much as Harry did, and Harry wasn’t going to give up without a fight, not now he’d barely explored the feeling.

 

Harry leaned over Louis as he was laying back down and pressed their lips together in a more urgent kiss. Louis’ hand went around the back of Harry’s neck to hold him there as their mouths moved together, a bit more frantic than before. Harry let out a small moan against Louis’ lips, but then Louis was pushing him away again.

 

“Harry… no,” Louis gasped, and Harry reluctantly pulled away, sitting up and staring out at the water. He glanced at Louis and saw his lips, red and swollen from their kiss. It was beautiful.

 

“Why not?” Harry asked, and he knew that even if he got an answer he didn’t like, he at least knew now what he was missing. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, but it was something.

 

“We should go back,” Louis said sadly, but Harry stared at him, still waiting for an answer. “We’ve been good. We haven’t… I mean, not that I don’t want… _Oh mon Dieu, Harry, embrasse-moi juste._ [Oh god, Harry, just kiss me],” Louis sighed, and Harry obliged without hesitation.

 

Louis’ lips parted, and Harry immediately swiped his tongue inside Louis’ mouth, tasting him, reveling in it. Louis’ hands were wound in his hair and Harry felt something in his stomach that was somewhere between pain and pleasure, and he never wanted it to stop.

 

When they finally did leave, it was with messy hair and puffy lips, and they forgot to do the shopping on their way home.

 

~

 

When they got back to the house, Harry felt a sense of sadness creep over him. They couldn’t be open here, they couldn’t do what they’d been doing for the last hour. They had to keep things the same, as though nothing had ever happened. Harry didn’t even know if Louis wanted things to continue, or if he was just going to pretend it never happened, as seemed to be the usual for his interactions with Harry.

 

“ _Bonjour, les garçons_ , [Good afternoon, boys],” Sandra said as they entered through the kitchen, and Harry smiled at her. Sandra looked from Harry to Louis quickly and raised an eyebrow, but Harry rolled his eyes and looked away, following Louis to the stairs and up them into his bedroom.

 

He sat down on his bed and let himself reflect on his day. Going to the fountain with Louis, confessing his feelings — one way or another — to Louis, kissing Louis…

 

His door banged open and he jumped, but it was just Louis, who had already changed into swim trunks and a very thin tank top that was nearly see-through. Harry pretended not to notice, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t been half hard before Louis had walked in.

 

Harry waited for his happy bubble to burst. He waited for Louis to say those four words that he dreaded hearing, especially after they’d given in to whatever was between them mere hours ago. But instead, Louis just held out Harry’s journal to him. Harry stood and took it, his fingers brushing Louis’ soft ones just slightly.

 

“Thought you might want this back,” Louis said quietly, and there was a tense moment of silence in which Harry felt the true weight of his embarrassing choice of exposing himself and his feelings. But the next moment, Louis’ lips were on his, and Harry was once again surrounded by the smell of salt and sweat and sun and Louis.

 

“Wha—” Harry mumbled as Louis pulled away, but Louis just smiled.

 

“ _ On se voit ce soir, Harry _ , [I’ll see you tonight, Harry].”

 

Louis walked out as quickly as he’d come in, and Harry, without really registering the movement, brought his fingers up to his lips, feeling the place where Louis’ had been. His hand trembled, and his lips tingled.

 

“ _ À _ _ ce soir, _ [See you tonight],” he said to the closed door, opening his diary to a fresh page and beginning to scribble down sentence after sentence.

_ [Il a le goût du soleil] _

[He tastes like sunshine]

 

_ [Des lèvres aussi douces que des pétales de rose] _

[Lips as soft as rose petals]

 

_ [Peut-être que ce n’est pas pour toujours, mais pour le moment, c’est suffisant] _

[Maybe it’s not forever, but for now is good enough]

 

_ [Si c'est cela l'amour, je veux cela pour toujours. S'il s'agit d'un rejet, je le désire quand même.] _

[If this is love, I want it forever. If this is rejection, I still want it.]

~

 

“ _Maman, papa. Où est Louis ?_ [Mom, Dad, where’s Louis]?” Harry asked as he ambled into the kitchen later that night. The sun had finally set, the sky only showing the deepest purples and blues as evening descended into night.

 

“I thought he was going with you _à la fête sur la plage, mon coeur_ , [to the beach party, my love],” his mother replied, not looking up from her plate of pasta, but his father shook his head.

 

“He mentioned to me an hour or so ago that he was going into the city. Something about a poetry reading he wanted to attend with his exchange friend. Danielle, if I remember correctly.”

 

Harry’s heart plummeted until it was a hard rock in the lower region of his stomach. “ _Tu es sûr ?_ [Are you sure?]” he asked his father, feeling rather sick at the mere thought.

 

“ _Oui_ , _Harry_. _Tout va bien ?_ [Yes, Harry. Is everything alright]?”

 

Harry just nodded, declining the plate Sandra was offering him. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see the look of pity that was surely crossing her face at this very moment. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or hit something.

 

Instead, he stood up straighter, snatched a towel from the rack just outside the kitchen, and walked towards the door to the garden.

 

He could feel his own self-hatred crushing him. All this time, he’d believed in Louis, but he’d also been wary. He’d known his limits. And this one time, he’d deluded himself into believing that Louis really wanted him, even if they had to be a secret.

 

Maybe he would have understood if it was an early dinner and he was coming home later, but it was nearly midnight. Louis wasn’t coming home. He wasn’t going to see Harry later that night. 

 

He could hear the distant sounds of happy shouts and singing voices as he made his way towards the beach, but he didn’t focus on them. He didn’t take the time he usually would to listen to the trees as the wind whistled through them, blowing the warm air around. If he had, he may not have continued.

 

Once on the beach, the only light now being the bonfire, Harry looked around, searching for the person he’d come down here to see. And after only a few moments, he saw her. He approached Nadine and her friends, held out his hand for her to place hers into, and kissed the back of it. She giggled, blushing in the dim, flickering light of the fire.

 

“ _Viens avec moi, ma belle_ , [Come with me, beautiful],” Harry said, and she followed without hesitation, their fingers wound loosely together.

 

“ _Où tu m’emmènes, Harry?_ [Where are you taking me, Harry]?” Nadine asked sweetly, but Harry just shook his head, winding their way through the trees lining the beach to a small glade covered with fine grass.

 

“ _Je voulais être seul avec toi_ , [Wanted to be alone with you],” Harry whispered into the darkness, hoping that the sensual way in which he manipulated the words would make him believe it. He only then realized that Nadine was only wearing her bikini and her hair was wet – she had clearly just gotten out of the water. Maybe this observation meant she was supposed to be more appealing to him.

 

Not that she wasn’t – Nadine was beautiful. The curves of her body were exactly what Harry had always thought he’d end up loving and holding, and her dark eyelashes framed her eyes so nicely. The moonlight bounced off her hair and made her glow. Harry knew in that moment that he wanted it. He wanted to have sex for the first time. It wasn’t that the idea wasn’t terrifying, and it wasn’t like maybe he’d imagined it with someone else, but in this moment, it felt like the thing he was meant to do. He wanted to do it. He did. 

 

Harry dropped a kiss onto her bare shoulder, and when he pulled back, she was looking at him with wide, shining eyes, like every one of her dreams were coming true in this very moment. She didn’t need to know that he’d never done this with anyone else. He knew what to do. Harry smiled, pulled her closer, and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips. She responded at once, leaning up into it, and Harry let himself go, losing himself in the sound of the waves and the wind in the trees and the feeling of grass beneath them as they lay back together.

 

~

The next morning, Harry walked Nadine up to the main house to get her a change of clothes. After they’d been together, they’d spent the night looking up at the stars before sneaking up to an attic room and falling asleep tangled up in the thin blankets.

 

Harry didn’t even care that he ran into Louis as soon as he entered the kitchen. The silence that filled the room was the most awkward of the entire summer, but Harry just moved past the confused blue eyes and took Nadine’s hand, leading her up to his room to loan her some of his clothes. Louis hadn’t said a word, but Harry knew that Louis knew what they’d done, where they’d been. It gave him an equal sense of gratification and shame.

 

Now that he was back though, in the reality of his life, he wanted nothing more than to be away from Nadine and with Louis. He ushered her out of the house with a swift kiss on the cheek, pretending that he didn’t see her disappointed wave as she walked across the lawn towards the beach.

 

Harry hurried to the table and sat down just as Sandra was bringing out the eggs and sausage and fresh orange juice she had prepared for breakfast. Harry’s parents had invited a few of their neighbors, Louis was sitting across from him, but Harry didn’t dare try to get his attention. He ate his breakfast quietly while his parents chatted away rapidly in French, only looking up when he heard his name.

 

“ _Etait_ _avec Nadine hier soir, c’est ça, Harry?_ [ … out with Nadine last night, weren’t you, Harry]?”

 

Harry flushed and felt Louis’ gaze snap onto him, but he wasn’t going to let it bother him. He was an adult, he could go out with his friends without needing permission from Louis or anyone else.

 

“ _Oui_ , I met her at the beach party, but we snuck off before it was over,” Harry said boldly, the implication of what had happened between them sitting heavily in the air. But all his parents did was smile, continuing their conversation. They’d been wanting him to get with Nadine for years – it was almost expected for him to have sex with her.

 

Harry finally brought himself to look across the table at Louis, and he flinched at the harshness of his gaze. Louis’ blue eyes were like ice – it was like seeing the ocean frozen over, and Harry hated it. He looked away, his cheeks burning. He wanted to say he didn’t regret it, but he knew that he did. In the moment, it had been right, almost easy, to lose himself in the reality of sex, but now? He felt a little sick to his stomach. He felt like he’d wronged Louis in some way. And maybe he had.

 

Harry forced his gaze down to his food and shut the world out, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts but not wanting to participate in conversation either. When he looked up again, his parents and their friends were gone, and he and Louis were alone.

Louis was stabbing at his sausage with unnecessary force, and that made anger boil up inside Harry. Louis had absolutely no reason to be upset – after all it had been he who had stood Harry up last night, not the other way around. And, for some reason, Harry wanted to give Louis a reason to be angry. So he did.

 

“So, did you have a good time last night with Danielle?” Harry asked, his tone much more bitter than he’d intended, but Louis’ face contorted for a moment before smoothing out into a neutral expression.

 

“Not as much fun as you had with Nadine, I’m sure,” he responded back, a bite to his voice, and Harry’s anger only grew.

 

“Well at least I stood by my previous plans until the time had passed. You left and didn’t look back.” Louis mumbled something, and Harry stood up, just about done with everything to do with Louis. “What did you say?

 

“I said maybe I was afraid to look back and ran away from my fear. Not everyone can be like you, you know. Unashamed, unbothered. I’m not like you.”

 

“Fuck you, Louis. Just… leave me alone,” Harry growled, stalking away and shoving roughly past Sandra as he went into the house.

 

“Oi,  _ ne sois pas grossier, Harry Styles _ , [don’t be rude, Harry Styles],” she called after him, but Harry didn’t listen. He took the stairs two at a time and slammed his bedroom door shut. He felt the tears on his cheeks, but he ignored them. He felt his heart slamming against his chest, but he ignored that too. His hands shook as he picked up his diary, but for once, nothing was coming to him. Louis had no idea what Harry was going through. He had no idea that Harry was barely even beginning to understand his own feelings and what they might mean. He had no idea that Harry was terrified to tell his parents, that he had even hesitated in confiding in the housemaid of all people because he was so scared of who he might be. 

 

What he had done with Nadine, it wasn’t for a lack of wanting it, but he could admit now that he’d had other motives, and the biggest one of all was to hurt Louis. He just didn’t know how much he’d hurt himself in the process.

~

Harry and Louis didn’t speak for a week after their breakfast interaction. And then a week turned into two weeks. And Harry hated every single moment of it.

 

It was Harry’s own fault, and he knew it. He had baited Louis, and Louis had snapped back by saying the one thing that could ruin Harry’s bravado over what he’d done. But that didn’t stop him from being crushed. It didn’t stop his heart from skipping several beats every time Louis entered a room or said something in French or so much as existed in the same building as Harry. But instead of feeling warm every time Louis looked at him, he felt cold. He had ruined everything. He had made sure that he couldn’t have the one thing that had been within his grasp. His hope, his ever-persistent hope, was gone now.

 

Harry lay awake as the third week of their estrangement began, his bed and floor littered with scraps of paper. He’d tried again and again to write, but he seemed to have developed a block. For a few months now, he’d had a muse, something to write about, someone to find inspiration in, and now he was gone, and Harry had nothing.

 

The birds began to sing outside the window as the sun rose, but Harry didn’t move. He almost couldn’t move, that’s how sad he was. The smell of summer no longer enticed him to spend his time outside, drinking it in. He had no desire to get up and face another day of being ignored by the man he was half in love with. He was tired of the silence. He was tired of being ignored. He was tired of hurting when he didn’t deserve to hurt at all.

 

Harry reached for his diary, tearing out another page and scratching down a few words. This was a stupid idea and he knew it, but he couldn’t stand it any longer. He crept out of his room, avoiding the creaky floorboards, and stood outside Louis’ door, wondering if he should knock or not.

 

He looked down at the crumpled piece of paper once more, reading his words back to himself to make sure it was good enough.

 

_ Je ne peux plus supporter ce silence. Je t’en prie, arrête ça. J’ai besoin d’entendre ta voix. _ [I can’t stand the silence. Please make it stop. I need to hear your voice.]

He slid it under Louis’ door and hurried away, not looking back. This was his last chance. He collapsed onto his bed face first and groaned into his pillow, not wanting to think about this anymore. He just wanted to sort things out with Louis, even if that meant giving up what they may have had.

 

The sound of the tap in the bathroom turning on made Harry turn, but his bathroom door was closed. Louis was just on the other side of that door. Harry could go in there and just… He didn’t even know what he wanted to do, he just wanted. He wanted Louis.

 

The water turned off and Harry listened to Louis’ footsteps as he crossed his room and opened the door to the hallway. There was a moment or two of silence in which Harry strained to hear the faintest sound of crinkling paper, but a moment later, the stairs creaked and moaned, and Harry knew that it was hopeless. He was never getting Louis back.

When Harry opened his eyes again, a few hours had passed, and the heat was making him sweat. He stripped out of his clothes and pulled on a pair of patterned swim trunks, considering taking a dip in the pool before trying to write some music. Maybe words wouldn’t come to him, but melodies might.

 

He reached out for the door handle and stopped as his foot stepped on something. Leaning down, he saw that his own piece of paper had been shoved back under his door, but with a new message on the back. Hands trembling, he picked it up and read it four times, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

 

_ Imbécile. Retrouve-moi ce soir, à minuit. Passe par le balcon. _ [You idiot. Meet me at midnight. Use the balcony.]   

Harry had nearly forgotten that his and Louis’ rooms were connected by a small balcony, and he hurried to the window and peered out. Louis’ soft curtains were blowing out of his open window, almost acting as an invitation. Louis meant it. He really meant it.

 

Harry grabbed his diary and a pen, inspiration hitting him, and he hurried down towards the pool, trying to think of all the things he could do to whittle down the time until that fateful hour.

 

~

 

It was five minutes to midnight, and Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out his window at the night sky. He was scared shitless.

 

He had spent his entire day running back and forth between the pool and the music room, writing melodies and lyrics and almost full songs as he tried to distract himself from what was to come.

 

He was excited, but he was also terrified. Louis had shown some interest in the past, and maybe Harry was just being ridiculous, but he wanted Louis to like him. He wanted Louis to want him. He wanted to explore Louis’ body with his hands, and he wanted to feel Louis against him under the cotton sheets of his bed. But he had also been rejected by Louis more times this summer than he had in his entire life. Louis pulled away from his feelings, and Harry didn’t blame him. Realizing that maybe he was having feelings for someone of his own gender was terrifying enough to Harry – he couldn’t imagine what it was like for Louis, who was away from home with no one to talk about this to.

 

Harry’s eyes flitted over to the clock on his side table. 11:58. He stood up and paced, taking in deep breaths of the French summer air. The smell of the ocean was particularly strong today, and it calmed him slightly.

 

Louis was so close. Right on the other side of their shared bedroom wall. He was there, probably waiting for Harry to come through his balcony doors. Harry wondered if he was as nervous as Harry felt. He wondered if Louis even wanted to do anything or if he wanted to turn Harry away properly. He sat down on his bed again, head in his hands. He hated this. Hated waiting. Hated the anticipation.

 

He finally looked up, and when he saw his clock blinking 12:00 at him, he stood abruptly, pulling aside the curtains to his window and stepping out onto the balcony. The wood felt warm and dry under his bare feet. The wind blew lightly through his hair. And Louis’ balcony doors were open, inviting.

 

Harry stepped through them and closed them quietly, turning to face the dark room. The moonlight shone beautifully off Louis’ skin where he stood, leaning up against the edge of his bed, looking calm and collected. Harry swallowed and walked to stand next to him, their shoulders touching. Harry hadn’t realized that he’d missed being physically close to Louis until that moment, and he shivered at their contact.

 

“You okay?” Louis asked after a few minutes of silence, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to speak. He didn’t know what he wanted to say or how he’d say it if he knew. All he knew was that he could feel Louis’ body heat and he wanted to be closer. He turned his head and his lips pressed against Louis’ shoulder over his t-shirt. Louis’ hand was now resting carefully around his back, and Harry could feel soft fingers on his hip. He let out a breath against Louis’ shoulder and looked up. Louis eyes were sparkling in the moonlight.

 

Harry pulled Louis to his chest, needing the closeness. He didn’t even know what made him do it, but he just went for it, and sighed as he felt Louis’ arms wrap around him properly, almost holding him up at this point. Harry looked up again and then stood to his full height, becoming eye level with Louis. Louis had a strange look on his face, but in the next moment, he felt Louis’ soft lips on his neck. Harry tilted his head back, pressing up against Louis as he trailed warm, wet kisses over Harry’s pulse point.

 

“Lou… Louis, I…” Harry struggled to find words as Louis pulled back, cupping his cheeks with his hands. Harry wanted to kiss him. He wanted it more than anything. He just wanted Louis to want it too.

 

“Harry…”

 

The way Louis said his name was amazing to Harry. He still had a thick Northern accent, but there was a little French in there too, Harry could hear it now. The ‘h’ was almost gone from it entirely, making it sound more like the French version, _‘arry_ , but with that Yorkshire bite that turned it into _‘arreh_.  

 

“ _Dis-le encore,_ [Say it again],” Harry requested, almost whispering, and Louis obliged.

 

“Harry… Harry, Harry, Harry, _god_ …”

 

Harry could feel himself getting hard now, his body having been in contact with Louis’ and moving against him for long enough to wake up the rest of him. Louis obviously had noticed, and now that Harry focused, he could feel Louis against him too.

 

“You… you want this with… me?” Harry said between kisses to Louis cheeks, and suddenly, Louis’ hands were on his face again, cradling it.

 

“I do. Can I kiss you?” Louis was asking as if Harry would say no, and in that moment, Harry knew that Louis was just as nervous about this as he was. Louis always had on that mask of bravery, the stoic man that everyone wanted him to be. His emotions were black and white, happy or sad, satisfied or angry, but now it was different. Now, Harry was seeing the person that was underneath all that. This was Louis as he was meant to be seen, open and vulnerable and so, so beautiful.

 

“ _Oui_ ,” Harry said softly, and then Louis’ lips were pressing feather light kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, his nose, everywhere. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the feeling of Louis’ lips on his skin.  

 

When Louis pulled away this time, Harry opened his eyes to Louis’ blown pupils. Harry moved around him and made his way to the side of the bed. Louis followed, pulling Harry down with him as they settled onto the mattress. Harry crawled into Louis, lap, pulling Louis as close to him as he could. He ground his hips against Louis’ chest as he settled down onto his lap, and finally, finally, their lips met.

 

Louis’ hands were everywhere, in Harry’s hair, on his face and his neck and his shoulders and his chest, and Harry felt hot all over. Their kisses were frantic, needy and desperate, almost necessary for survival.

 

Harry curled his hands in the fabric of Louis’ shirt, needing it off, wanting to touch Louis’ warm chest. Louis hummed into Harry’s mouth and then they both tore their shirts off, Harry falling sideways onto the bed as Louis turned to settle on top of him this time, bringing their lips back together.

 

Frantic fingers worked at buttons as they both hurried to expose themselves to each other. Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest as their clothing was discarded, and then they were bare for each other, and Harry sucked in a breath.

 

“Lou, you’re so beautiful,” he said, and he didn’t whisper it this time, letting Louis hear him, letting the night hear him. He wanted the world to know. Even in the dim light of the moon, he could see Louis’ cheeks turn pink at the compliment.

 

“ _Pas aussi beau que toi, chéri_ , [Not as beautiful as you, darling,]” Louis responded, the French rolling off his tongue, and Harry pulled him down for another kiss, moaning into his mouth.

 

Louis lay down next to Harry, still kissing him as Harry turned on his side, the better to get closer. Their bodies lined up almost perfectly, like they had always been meant to be together in this way. The air was filled with the sounds of crickets and the breeze in the trees and Louis’ high whines as they rutted their hips together. Harry wondered if he was dreaming, but he couldn’t be, because he could taste Louis on his tongue, he could feel his heart thudding against his chest. He was here, in this room, with Louis.

 

“I want… _Mon dieu, je te veux_ , [god, I want you],” Louis breathed, and Harry agreed with yet another bruising kiss to Louis’ lips. Harry watched as Louis reached for the lube and condoms, watched as Louis tugged on his cock to bring it to full hardness, watched as Louis rolled the condom down himself. Louis was so beautiful to watch, so amazing to just admire what he was like. But then Louis’ hands were on him again, touching his chest, his nipples, his waist, his hips, everywhere, and he fell into it, let himself drown in the feeling of Louis everywhere. There was nowhere else Harry would rather be.

 

~

 

Harry lay face to face with Louis an hour later, humming as Louis stroked his cheek, pushing his hair away from his face. They were dirty and sweaty but neither of them cared. They were basking in the light of each other, sharing breaths, just being together.

 

Louis looked at him then, blue meeting green. “ _Appelle-moi par ton nom et je t'appellerai par le mien_ , [Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine],” he said.

 

It was an odd request, something that Harry hadn’t expected, but the way Louis asked him was enough to make him want to try. He licked his lips, smiling.

 

“Harry…” he tried tentatively, and he felt a little self-conscious, but then Louis spoke again.

 

“Louis…”

 

Harry felt quite embarrassed by how hard he smiled. He didn’t know why. It didn’t make sense. But it had happened, and all he wanted to hear was Louis saying his own name for the rest of his life.

 

“Harry.”

 

“Louis.”

  
Harry drew Louis close for a kiss, tongues exploring mouths and teeth sinking gently into bottom lips. He never wanted this to end. 


	4. Part 4

The next morning dawned bright and early, but Harry refused to open his eyes, his brain still reliving the moments of the night before. Louis asking him to come to his room, Louis kissing him, Louis touching him, Louis being inside him…

 

It was then that he felt warm breath over his thighs, and he cracked one eye open, sure that he was dreaming. The sight of Louis between his legs, hair still wet from the shower he must have just stepped out of, made his breath hitch. Louis’ mouth pressed softly into the skin of his inner thighs and Harry sighed, glad that Louis still wanted him after what they’d done together.

 

When Louis’ mouth closed around the tip of his cock, he whined high in his throat and gripped the sheets, forcing his hips not to buck up into the warmth.

 

Louis pulled back after only a few moments, Harry looked down at him questioningly. Louis smirked, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

 

“Well, that’s promising… you’re hard again,” Louis said, amused, and Harry nodded, but Louis was already standing, pulling on a shirt and making his way to the stairs. Harry groaned, but he was smiling. This was the happiest he’d felt in a long, long time.

 

~

 

Harry didn’t outwardly show that anything had happened between himself and Louis. He was cordial as ever, acting as he always had, but apparently, he wasn’t very good at hiding things from Sandra, because she cornered him later that week, demanding to know why he was smiling like a _crétin_ [dopey idiot].

 

Harry brushed it off and quickly escaped to the music room, but as soon as he was alone, his mind wandered back to about fifteen minutes ago, where Louis had sought him out in the back garden by the door to the attic room and kissed him breathless.

 

They had been like that all week, sneaking kisses and touches when they could. Harry could feel the magic of summer seeping back into him with every moment he spent with Louis. His songs were coming more easily to him now. He breathed easier, knowing that, even if it was behind closed doors, he had Louis and Louis had him.

 

Harry went to sleep every night with the feeling of Louis pressing into him still burned into his brain and his body. Poets and writers and random people on the street spoke of seeing stars, but Harry had seen the whole galaxy.

 

It was only a few weeks later that he sat in the airy kitchen, jotting down lines in his diary as he watched Louis climb up and down the stairs, fetching things and helping Sandra prepare lunch.

_ [Il y a toute une galaxie dans ses yeux] _

[He holds a galaxy in his eyes]

 

_ [La touche de magie remplit l'âme avec du feu] _

[The magic touch fills the soul with fire]

 

_ [Je ne peux l'aimer, et pourtant, je crois bien que si] _

[I can’t love him, but yet, I still might.]

“Louis, have you enjoyed your time here in France?” Anne asked as she accepted an iced tea from Sandra and sat down opposite Harry at the small table. Louis paused in his washing of the dishes and smiled.

 

“ _Oui_ , I have immensely. There are still things I wish to do before I leave, though.”

 

Harry registered those words with a small jolt, turning it into a cough so that no one would suspect him. The knowledge that Louis was leaving France had always been in the back of Harry’s mind, but he hadn’t truly thought about what that might mean until this moment. It scared him. He pushed it away.

 

“And what would those be?”

 

“Well, my friends and I were considering taking a trip to Paris.”

 

“And those friends include your Danielle, I’m sure.”

 

Harry finally looked up at those words. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to hear what Louis had to say. They hadn’t talked about that, about Louis’ relationship with Danielle, whatever it was, just as they hadn’t talked about Harry’s with Nadine. It didn’t seem important when they were together.

 

“ _Oui_ , she would be joining us,” Louis said, no trace of discomfort in his voice. His eyes flickered over to Harry, and Harry looked away, concentrating hard on the next blank page of his diary.

 

“Taking your love to the city of love, _comme c’est romantique_ , [how romantic],” Anne sighed, and at that moment, Robin walked in with Gemma, both having returned from a bike ride.

 

“What’s romantic, _mon coeur_  [my love]?”

 

“Oh, Louis here is going to spend some time with his beloved in Paris before he returns home,” Anne responded, and Harry’s grip tightened around his pen.

 

“ _Comme c’est mignon,_ [How lovely],” Robin responded, kissing Anne gently. 

 

Harry scribbled another line in his diary, his handwriting sloppy in his jealousy.

_ [Elle a peut-être son corps, mais j’ai son coeur] _

[She may have his body, but I have his heart]

 

“It’s too bad Harry can’t take you. He knows Paris better than anyone,” Gemma piped up, and Harry could feel Louis’ gaze burning into the side of his head.

 

“I’m sure he does,” Louis said lightly, and Harry wasn’t sure what to think. He needed some air.

 

“ _Je vais faire un tour dehors_ , [Going for a walk],” he mumbled, and before anyone could protest, he was out the door, diary in his hand, making his way towards the small path that led through the sparse trees and up around the edges of the property. He walked with purpose, his shirt billowing in the gusts of wind that occasionally swept through.

 

“Harry, wait,” a voice called over the grounds, and Harry stopped abruptly as Louis came walking across the lawn towards him, a small smile on his face.

 

“ _Je peux me joindre à toi ?_ [May I walk with you?]” Louis asked, and Harry just turned and continued to walk, letting Louis follow. They passed the edge of the house and continued towards the beach. It was cloudy today, so no one was swimming or having parties. Everyone was enjoying a nice day inside with their families. Everyone except Harry.

 

“I would much rather go to Paris with you,” Louis said finally as they came to a halt at the edge of the beach.

 

“Would you?”

 

Louis’ hand was on his arm then, and Harry looked over at him, surprised to see the sincerity in his eyes. “ _Oui_. To be there, where no one knows us? To be able to be free? That’s what I want for my last weeks here.”

 

Harry blushed and allowed Louis to take his hand. “I want that too.”

 

Louis pulled Harry in close and Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as Louis’ lips found his. It was here, kissing on the beach, the sea spray tickling their skin and the wind whipping at their hair, that Harry felt his jealousy float away, until it was just himself and Louis, on their own against the world.

 

“But you should go with your friends. Have fun. And then come back to me, yeah?” Harry asked, and Louis nodded, stroking his cheek before creating more distance between them. Harry then followed Louis back to the house, wishing that he didn’t have to be so insecure, wishing that they could just be, wishing that he didn’t have to worry about Louis falling for someone else when Harry had already fallen so hard for him.

 

“I’ll meet you by the music room, yeah? I would love to hear you play again,” Louis said as they reached the house, and Harry nodded, watching Louis walk away before heading in the opposite direction. He paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath as the wind sighed through the trees. For the first time in so long, he felt completely and utterly content.

 

“Harry, _bonjour_ , [hello],” said a voice, and Harry’s eyes snapped open. Nadine was walking through the yard to him, her bike sitting a little distance away. Harry felt bad – he hadn’t spoken to her since the night they’d had sex. If he was being honest with himself, he was avoiding her, sure that she would want more from him, and at this point, he knew he couldn’t give her that.

 

“Hello, Nadine,” he said, slipping into English without realizing. He almost always spoke French to her, but with all the time he’d spent with Louis, English was becoming his preferred language. He attempted to rectify that at once, sure that just that small moment would give him away. “ _Comment vas-tu ?_ [How are you?]”

 

“ _Bien. Tu m’as manqué._ [Good. I’ve missed you],” Nadine replied, sounding slightly disappointed that Harry wasn’t rushing to her. But Harry didn’t feel comfortable being around her right now. The weight of what they’d done, of what _he’d_ done, weighed on him the longer she stood there, but he couldn’t think of a way express it. It was never like that with Louis – everything with Louis was a breath of fresh air.

 

The silence between them went on longer than Harry anticipated, and it was only when he looked up that he caught her eyeing his shirt, a strange expression on her face. He lifted the hem of the material and it hit him that this wasn’t his shirt, it was Louis’. More importantly, it was the shirt Louis had worn on the day of his arrival, and Nadine and her family had been leaving when he arrived.

 

He caught her eye and saw that she knew, even if she didn’t know what it was she knew. And Harry felt ashamed, not because he regretted what he’d done with Louis, but because he had slept with Nadine for terrible reasons and hadn’t been honest with her from the start, and instead of finding out from Harry’s own words, she was finding out this way.

 

“I would very much like to see you again,” Nadine said in heavily accented English, and Harry smiled, but it was forced. He desperately didn’t want to hurt her, but at this point, he feared he didn’t have much of a choice.

 

“I … don’t know if that would be a good idea,” he said slowly, and she looked away. Harry wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but nothing he said or did now would change anything. He’d confirmed her worst suspicions.

 

“So I am not… how do you say, your person?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were glassy with tears.

 

Harry shook his head and watched as she walked away. He waited until she’d rode out of sight, and then ran for the music room. Right now, he just wanted to be with Louis. Everything made more sense when Louis was there.

 

_ ~ _

 

Harry hated jealousy. He hated feeling it, because he really wanted to believe that every person had a right to be with any other person, whether it be just as friends or more. But every time Louis spent time with Danielle, Harry got angry and confused, and he retreated. And this time was no different. In fact, it was elevated, because there was such a short amount of time that he and Louis had left, and Harry wanted to spend every moment he could with Louis before he was gone.

 

He found himself wandering up to the attic room, where he and Nadine had spent their night together. He sat down on the mattress and lay back, stretching out in the rays of sun seeping through the wooden roof. And he thought.

 

Being with Nadine hadn’t been bad. As far as pleasure goes, he had quite enjoyed the feeling of what they’d done together, but he knew that it had been the wrong decision. Being with Louis had been a better one. To be able to feel how much Louis loved him simply through his touches, the gentle caresses and the dexterity of his fingers as they pressed inside him, was something Harry had never experienced, and he never wanted to stop experiencing it. With Louis, Harry felt free, lighter than air, even if they couldn’t tell anyone about it.

 

Harry reached into the pocket of Louis’ shirt, which he had discarded when he’d reached the attic, and pulled out the peach he’d brought with him for a snack. He studied it, turning it over in his fingers. His finger slipped into the indent of the peach, and he remembered how it felt to have Louis’ finger breach him, how it felt to feel Louis inside him, even that small amount. He had never felt anything more intimate.

 

The peach spurted juice onto his chest as his finger split it open, and his mouth dropped, remembering his own come landing on his chest as Louis fucked him. His hips jolted at the thought, and it was then that he knew what he wanted. He wanted to be inside Louis. He wanted to give Louis the same pleasure that Louis had so willingly given him. He wanted to feel what it was like to be so wrapped up in someone that you couldn’t focus on anything else.

 

He reached down and tugged his swim trunks down, just enough to expose himself. The warm summer air hit his bare skin and he slammed his head back into the pillow. Everything happened quickly, and all around him was the smell of warm, dry wood and sunshine and peaches.

 

The peach he set carefully on the side table after it was all said and done, and he cleaned himself off as best he could, his hands still sticky with peach juice and his release. He wiped them on the sheets and lay there for a while longer, thinking, allowing his mind to go places that he had forced himself away from these last months.

 

Louis was something that Harry had never experienced. Louis was two people in one – he was polite and reserved and more of an adult than Harry could ever hope to be, but he was vulnerable and sweet and confused, just as Harry himself was at times. Harry felt like they understood each other, in a strange way.

 

They wanted what, to most of the people around them, was forbidden, and yet they still wanted it, still found ways to have it, even if those ways were only in the light of the moon and the cool night air. Even so, they knew that what they had was a secret, something that only the stars could know and understand, and that outside of their perfect bubble, things had to be different. Women would have to be by their sides. Families would have to be created, and that was something they couldn’t do together. Harry hated knowing that. He hated thinking that his future, his very near future, didn’t have Louis in it. He hated that the summer would end, the autumn and the winter would come, and he would be alone. The sun wouldn’t shine as bright without Louis.

 

But maybe it was for the best. Maybe this was all it was meant to be – a summer romance, if they could even call it that. A few months where they got to live the life they wanted but couldn’t have, and that was that.

 

Harry knew otherwise. He felt it in his heart, his soul. Whether Louis felt the same in return, he didn’t know, but he was aware of his own feelings, and he knew that no matter where Louis went, no matter where life took either of them, his love for him would never fade, not entirely. Louis had come into his life and turned it upside down in a matter of minutes. Harry loved and hated it.

 

A noise reached him and Harry’s eyes, which had fallen closed mere moments ago, shot open, and he turned to see Louis standing there, looking around the room before his eyes landed on Harry. There was a strange feeling in his stomach as Louis sat down next to him and reached for the soiled peach. He felt a jarring combination of satisfaction and embarrassment as Louis saw the evidence of what he’d done, and the mixture of feelings wasn’t settling well with him, slowly turning into something more like fear.

 

“Louis, I…” Harry tried to speak, but he couldn’t find the words he wanted. Louis’ fingers were touching the peach softly, like he was trying to figure out what he was really looking at.

 

Louis’ finger dipped into the mess, and Harry reached out, his hand gripping Louis’ arm. Whatever was happening inside him, he didn’t like it. It was making his stomach churn unpleasantly. He wanted it to stop.

 

“Just wanna taste you,” Louis said simply, lifting his finger to his mouth, and Harry, suddenly consumed with fear, pulled at Louis’ arm.

 

“Please, don’t, don’t do that,” he gasped, the feeling in his tummy getting stronger, almost painful.

 

Louis stopped, but then lifted the peach to his mouth, as though to take a bite, and Harry lost it. He pulled at both of Louis’ arms, almost smacking him as he attempted to get the peach away from him.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Harry asked frantically, struggling as Louis’ strength overpowered him, and he fell back against the mattress, Louis’ hand holding him down, the other still holding the peach.

 

“Stop,” Louis said, but not unkindly. He seemed worried that Harry might hurt himself, and there was that second person, the quiet one who just wanted things to be okay. It did nothing to calm Harry’s terror.

 

“You’re fucking hurting me,” Harry bit back, and he wasn’t even sure if he meant physically hurting or emotionally hurting, because everything was just a huge jumble in his head and his heart.

 

“Then let go,” Louis said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world for Harry to just release his wrist, to just stop everything.

 

At those words, Harry broke. All the fight went out of him. He felt drained, torn up, and he pulled Louis in by his waist, burying his face into Louis’ lap as he cried. He didn’t even know what was happening to him – all he knew was that he was scared and tired and hurt, and being close to Louis always made the world around him disappear. He heard the sound of the peach hitting the floor as Louis’ arms went around him, holding him, comforting him.

 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Louis mumbled softly into Harry’s ear, but Harry barely heard him. He moved until he was sitting up, holding Louis to him with his head on his shoulder, his breaths shaky and his eyes wet with tears. Louis’ hands were soft on him rubbing at his back, gentle motions to calm Harry down, but Harry just felt a mixture of embarrassment and pain.

 

“I… I don’t want you to go,” Harry said finally, and he heard Louis suck in a breath. The pain in his chest and his stomach suddenly made sense – his jumble of feelings and his strange warped reality of their situation were too much for him to handle alone, and it only made him cry harder. He wanted things to be different. He wanted to turn back the clock, or maybe be in a different reality, where he and Louis could be together freely, where Louis would have come up here, bitten into his peach, and it would have turned into something more intimate and wonderful, instead of the disaster it now was. Harry hated reality.

 

Louis didn’t say a word. He just kept Harry in his embrace, and Harry was thankful for that. He knew that Louis’ silence meant that he understood, and whether he felt the same way or not, it was enough for Harry to have him, right here and right now.

 

~

 

“So, have you decided on any plans for your last few weeks?” Robin asked as dinner got under way. Harry immediately concentrated on his food. It had only been a few hours since he and Louis had held each other up in the attic. Harry had taken quite a while to calm down, and even then, Louis hadn’t been able to offer any words of comfort, because this was just the reality of things. Louis was leaving, and not even Harry could make him stay.

 

But his parents didn’t know that. They were clueless to the pain and sadness Harry would be carrying around these next few weeks. They had no idea that, while they would move on quickly from Louis and begin the search for their next exchange student, Harry’s heart would forever be with Louis.

 

He felt the lump in his throat and hurriedly shoved a piece of his  _ Steak Diane _ into his mouth, needing something to focus on.

 

He felt something under the table and nearly jumped, but the shock passed as he realized that Louis’ bare foot was slowly creeping over his, one toe at a time, until it rested there, heated skin against heated skin. Harry shot a quick look at Louis across the table and Louis smiled, scrunching his toes so that Harry knew that Louis had done it on purpose. Harry felt a warmth spreading through him, despite the knowledge of Louis’ departure still hanging heavily over him, and he ate with a smile on his face as Louis discussed his last weeks in France.

 

~

Harry lay on his back, staring at the ceiling for the third night in a row. The days were dwindling down, Louis’ departure date looming closer, and Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it. His brain kept going even when his body shut down, and not even a cup of Sandra’s best tea could help.

 

He wished he could talk to Louis, or just be with Louis, but Louis had been spending so much time working on his school work for their final paper that Harry barely saw him, only hearing the faint sounds of him coming home late for the past week. He missed him so much, it was like a constant ache in his chest, even though he was only a room away. Harry didn’t know what he was going to do in ten days when Louis was gone for good, and he didn’t want to think about it.

 

He threw his sheet off and sat up, rubbing at his face. Maybe some fresh air would help.

 

He stepped out onto the balcony and stood there, leaning against the railing, looking out over the gardens of their estate. It was so beautiful, even in the moonlight, but it did nothing for Harry’s mood. It would feel so lonely without Louis there to go for a walk with or just see walking up from the beach.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” said a voice behind him, and Harry leaned back into Louis’ touch, not realizing how much he had been craving it until then.

 

“Yeah. Keep thinking about you,” Harry admitted, turning around and pulling Louis into a hug. Louis rubbed his bare back and they settled down together, their backs against the wall between their rooms.

 

“Hope you were thinking of me in a good way,” Louis joked, but Harry just looked at him, and Louis’ smile melted off his face as he realized. “Harry…”

 

“We wasted so many days, Lou,” Harry said quietly, the nickname slipping past his lips, but Louis didn’t seem to mind it. “I could have had you from the start… We could have had all summer, maybe, but we just …”

 

Louis pulled Harry closer and Harry buried his face into Louis’ neck. “I know.”

 

Harry breathed in the smell of saltwater and soap that lingered on Louis’ skin and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, taking in a shuddering breath.

 

“ _Tu comptes m’oublier après tout cela ?_ [Are you going to forget me after this?]”

 

It was a question that had been plaguing him for so long, and he thought he knew the answer, but he prepared himself anyway as Louis took a deep breath.

 

“You make the sun shine every day. You make me smile without even being there, because I just remember a comment or a melody or the sound of your laugh. You never gave up even when I was being stupid. If anyone wasted time, it was me, and I can’t apologize enough for that. But no. I could never forget you.”

 

Louis’ words were soft, genuine, and Harry sniffed, trying valiantly not to get emotional.

 

“I’m going to miss you,” he admitted, almost in a whisper, and he felt Louis’ hands on his cheeks, bringing their eyes level. Louis’ lips were warm and a little dry when they touched Harry’s, but Harry didn’t care. He sank into the kiss, letting Louis’ tongue explore his mouth while he sucked on his bottom lip.

 

“We’ve still got some time, love,” Louis said, and Harry just pulled him back in, kissing him again. It wasn’t long before they were both asleep, tangled up together under the stars.

 

~

 

“So, Louis, when do you leave for Paris?” Sandra asked as she set down a full plate of  _ crêpes _ in front of him. Harry studied his empty plate, wishing that they could have any other conversation right now. It was just over a week left until Louis left, and Harry couldn’t stand anyone mentioning it. But he couldn’t say that, so he kept to himself. Only Sandra really noticed a difference, but she was kind enough not to ask in front of Harry’s parents. Harry hoped he could talk to her later – talking to Louis about it was futile at this point, because neither of them wanted to consider what might happen once they were separated by so much distance.

 

“We are due to leave in two days,” Louis said, and Harry, not wanting to hear them talk about this again, stood up quietly and escaped into the kitchen behind Sandra.

 

“ _Oh, mon coeur, je sais que c’est dûr_ , [Oh, love, I know it’s hard, isn’t it?]” Sandra said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry just shook his head.

 

“This was what was meant to happen. We weren’t meant to have anything more than a summer fling, a one off. That’s it,” Harry said, only vaguely realizing that he’d picked up a bit of Louis’ British slang. Sandra looked sad and squeezed Harry’s arm comfortingly.

 

“He may come back to visit. Especially if his _amoureux_ [love] is here.”

 

Harry forced a small laugh, rolling his eyes. “Sandra, Louis will go home to his family and friends and probably find someone else. I’m not worth visiting for.”

 

Sandra hit him with the towel she was using to dry the dishes and stood to her full height, which, admittedly, wasn’t all that tall, but Harry took a step back from her, sensing that a scolding was coming.

 

“You listen to me, Harry Styles. Just because you’re moping and sad doesn’t mean that you aren’t worth something. Louis knows that, and he values you. If he cares, he will come back. And he does care. I can see it every time he gives you one of those looks that he thinks is sneaky.” Harry’s mouth dropped open, and now it was Sandra’s turn to roll her eyes. “ _C’est une bonne chose que tes parents ne remarquent pas ce genre de choses._ [Good thing your parents are oblivious to this sort of thing.]”

 

“But what if all of this, whatever it is, is just one of those things, like it feels right when we’re here and when we’re together, but it fades as the experience becomes a memory?”

Harry was being dramatic, he knew that, but somewhere in the back of his mind, his petty fears were very real. He was far more invested in what he and Louis had than he thought he would be, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if his fears became his reality.

 

Sandra shook her head and pulled Harry into a tight hug. Harry let himself sink into it, appreciating in full for the first time that Sandra knew what was going on. He didn’t think he’d be coping very well right now if he didn’t have someone to talk to. 

“Even if that’s the case, you’ll have this summer with you forever.  _ Louis ne quittera jamais ton coeur. _ [Louis will never be gone from your heart].”

 

Harry felt tears prick in his eyes and he nodded, pulling back and wiping them away prematurely. He took a deep breath and walked back out into the warm, sunlit garden, and immediately heard his name. 

 

“Oh, well you could still go! Harry would be more than willing to take you around,” Anne was saying, and Harry froze, confused. 

 

“What?” he asked, taking his seat across from Louis. 

 

“Louis was just telling us that his friends decided to take early trips home to see their families, and that their Paris trip wasn’t going to happen. I figured you’d be the best option if he wanted to truly experience the city,” Anne said happily, and Harry felt his face flush, multiple emotions coursing through him.

 

“I, uh …” he stuttered, and his eyes met Louis’ over the table. They were a brilliant blue, and sparkling more than they had all summer. “Yeah, I’d be willing to do that. Haven’t been to Paris yet this summer. Might be fun.” He hoped that he had come off as nonchalant, and it seemed so, because Robin and Anne were both speaking rapidly in a mixture of French and English about all the spots Harry could take Louis to, and when they should depart, and that Louis could just leave from Paris instead of coming all the way back to  _ Ars-en-Ré _ . But Harry only had eyes for Louis, and with a meaningful look, he stood up from the table, announced that he was going for a swim at the beach before it got crowded, and made his way quickly up to his bedroom, waiting. 

 

Moments after he’d stripped down and pulled on his still damp trunks from the day before, he heard Louis’ door open and close, and a second later, he was coming through their shared bathroom, his cheeks flushed and a smile on his face. 

Harry stood at once and Louis crashed into him, moving his lips softly against Harry’s. Harry whined softly and fisted his hands in Louis’ white t-shirt, overwhelmed. 

 

“You’re amazing, god,” Harry breathed into Louis’ mouth, and Louis’ eager tongue dipped between Harry’s lips momentarily before he pulled back. Harry chased his lips, wanting more, needing more, but he felt Louis’ forehead against his and he stopped, just basking in the moment. 

  
“I… I lied about the trip,” Louis whispered, dipping his head a little to kiss Harry lightly, and Harry felt his eyes go wide. 

  
“You… You what?”

  
“I lied. My friends, they… They wanted to go to Venice instead of Paris, and I just… I decided not to go. I wanted to see Paris with you.”

  
“Lou…” Harry whispered, pulling Louis towards him by the waist and sinking into yet another kiss. He couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t, and yet, it was happening. They were leaving the next day. His parents were booking them tickets on the train right now, he was sure of it. He would get to spend the last week of Louis’ stay here with Louis in the city of love. 

  
“Mmm… Better get back…” Louis gasped against Harry’s lips, rutting slightly against Harry’s nearly bare leg. Harry was shocked – Louis wasn’t normally like this, he was much more reserved with how Harry made him feel physically, but he wasn’t complaining one bit. 

  
“Yeah… Beach?” Harry asked, placing a lingering kiss on Louis’ lips before pulling away reluctantly and adjusting himself in his swim trunks. 

  
“Beach,” Louis confirmed, wiping at his mouth and trying to fix his hair, which Harry’s hands had mussed up just moments before. Harry nearly ran out of his room to fetch towels for the both of them. 

 

~

 

They took the train to a city just outside of Paris, hopping on a bus to take them to their hotel inside the city. Here, surrounded by people that didn’t know them, Harry felt happy — free, and he reached for Louis’ hand as the bus navigated the busy streets.

 

“We’re here, Lou. What do you think?”

 

Louis stared out the window for a moment more before turning around to face Harry, his eyes bright and wide. 

 

“It’s beautiful. And I’m holding your hand and no one cares. It’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

 

Harry blushed but didn’t pull his hand away. He felt Louis’ thumb stroke over the back of his hand and he smiled, mumbling in French to himself. 

 

_ Je suis dans la ville de l’amour avec mon amoureux… Il n’y a rien de mieux. _

[I’m in the city of love with my love … nothing is better.]

 

~

 

Their room was small, one bed shared between them and a beautiful balcony overlooking the city streets. Harry felt arms sneak around his waist, and Louis’ head came to rest on his shoulder, both of them enjoying the view.

 

“Where do you want to go first,  _ mon amour _ [my love]?” Harry asked, and he felt lips brush his cheek. Harry turned and met Louis’ lips with his own, and they lost themselves in a kiss. Hands found their way into hair and under shirts until they were panting into each other’s mouths, needing more. “We… We can stay here, if you’d prefer,” Harry huffed against Louis’ mouth, but Louis pulled away, seemingly reluctantly.

 

“I want you to show me Paris. All of it. Every single part of it that makes it beautiful.”

 

As if Harry could deny Louis anything, especially when he said it like that. 

 

~

 

Harry decided as soon as they were outside and on the streets that he knew how their night would end. But until then, he made sure Louis was occupied, so as to not guess what he was up to. 

 

They went everywhere - the  _ Arc de Triomphe _ ,  _ Notre Dame _ ,  _ Le Marais _ , the Latin Quarter, and the  _ Sainte-Chapelle _ were just a few of Harry’s favorite spots. He knew they were bound to be bustling with tourists, but that just meant that he and Louis were able to blend in and experience Paris together. 

 

Louis finally insisted that they go to the  _ Champ de Mars _ , upon where Harry insisted that he had to take a picture of himself “holding the Eiffel Tower” — he had about ten pictures of it already, but he wanted Louis to have the experience. 

 

“Come on, Harry, just a little higher… Nope, too high now… And a little to your left… Your other left, darling,”

 

Harry sighed, but he was blushing happily at the pet name, and he did everything Louis asked of him until it was perfect.

 

“ _ Comment c’est là ? _ [How’s that?]” Harry asked, just to be sure, and Louis swept him up into a chaste kiss right there in front of about five hundred people. No one batted an eye, and Harry let his eyes linger closed for a bit longer than usual, savoring the feeling of freedom. 

 

“ _ Parfait à tous les niveaux _ , [Perfect in every way],” Louis responded, pecking Harry’s mouth once more, and Harry reached for Louis’ hand, bringing it up to his lips. 

 

“Come on. I’ve got a surprise for you. Saved the best for last,” Harry said softly, tugging Louis along. 

 

They hurried off into the gathering darkness, lights starting to wink on until the whole city was lit up. The beautiful tower loomed over them as they got nearer and nearer to Harry’s final destination. Harry felt the anticipation churning in his stomach. As obvious as it seemed to him that Louis felt the way he himself felt, there was always that nagging doubt in the back of his mind. Louis would be going home, back to his family and friends and people that cared about him. They would be separated by hundreds of miles, and right now, Harry just wanted to make sure that Louis wouldn’t forget him, even if their relationship didn’t last. 

 

Louis was bouncing on the balls of his feet as Harry lead him inside and into the elevator, and Harry found himself getting more and more nervous as the elevator began to move, taking them up. He had no reason to be — it wasn’t like he was proposing, or even getting them a fancy dinner. But sharing something this beautiful with someone like Louis, well, it meant more to Harry than he was willing to admit, even to himself. 

 

The elevator opened and Harry could see the palpable excitement in every movement of Louis’ body. Harry reached up gently and covered his eyes with his hands. “Do you trust me?”

 

Louis nodded, and Harry lead him to the observation deck, facing out over the  _ Champ de Mars _ , and when they were situated in a good place, having moved into a small opening at the railing, Harry took his hands away and watched as Louis took in what he was seeing. 

 

Harry had been up here more times than he could count, but the sight of the city lit up like a cluster of stars always amazed him. Harry took it in and then glanced sideways at Louis, who was staring out over the nightlife of Paris, his mouth slightly open. 

 

“Harry, this… It’s so amazing,” Louis finally said in barely more than a whisper, and Harry smiled as he was pulled to Louis’ side. He rested his head on Louis’ shoulder and looked out over the city once more, savoring the moment. 

 

“It makes me feel so small, sometimes, you know?” Harry said suddenly, not really sure where he was going with it, but Louis’ attention was on him now, so he kept speaking. “Like… We’re up here, and there’s a whole city below us. And beyond that, many more cities and countries and oceans… The world is so large and we’re just two tiny parts of it.”

 

“And yet, we found each other… And I’ve never felt more lucky,” Louis replied, and Harry felt warmth spread from his head to his toes. Whatever his doubts told him, Louis speaking those words to him washed it all away, and fueled his hope that maybe this week wouldn’t be the end… Maybe they’d make it last, beat the odds. 

 

“Paris has never been so beautiful,” Harry mumbled, turning to hug Louis to him, suddenly needing him to be close. 

 

“And why’s that?” 

 

Harry could hear the smirk in Louis’ voice, like he already knew what Harry was thinking and what he wanted to say, but Harry was going to say it anyway, because he wanted Louis to hear it from his own lips. 

 

“You make those lights ten times brighter.”

 

Louis’ smile was blinding, and the kiss he bestowed upon Harry had Harry going weak-kneed, right there at the top of Paris’s most well-known monument. Up here, away from the people and the bustle and the restrictions of the life they lived, they could just be, and Harry couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than staying like this forever.

 

~

 

The days dwindled down, and Harry and Louis spent every moment of them out on the streets. Harry proudly watched on as Louis ordered things in French, and he almost never let go of his hand, needing to feel connected to him. The Paris sun tanned Louis’ skin to a beautiful bronze, and Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off him. He didn’t want to. He wanted to remember everything about Louis clearly till the day he died. 

 

On their last night, Harry took Louis to his favorite restaurant in Paris. Several times, he thought about asking Louis what was going to happen tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know where Louis stood on the situation. He pushed the multitude of painful thoughts away. Louis was still here. Harry was holding his hand across the table as they waited for their food. Louis was still with him, and Harry was not going to waste the time he had left worrying about what might be. 

After their dinner they walked out onto the busy street, the lights bouncing off of Louis’ skin and making it glow. Harry fought internally with himself, doing his best to ignore the already fragile state of his heart.

 

“You want to just walk?” Louis asked, and Harry nodded, not knowing what might come out of his mouth if he attempted to speak. He felt Louis’ arm go around his waist and he leaned into the touch, letting Louis guide him. The sound of French words and cars and live music surrounded them, and Harry closed his eyes, living in it, absorbing it, letting it all sink in.

 

They wandered the small, winding streets, stopping at small shops and peering through windows at things neither of them could ever afford, and slowly, Harry started to smile again. 

 

They stopped at one particular street performer as he launched into a beautiful rendition of a song Harry knew vaguely, and Louis released him, spinning around and holding out his hand. 

 

“May I have this dance?”

 

Harry felt his face burning, but he nodded, accepting Louis’ hand and allowing Louis to pull him close. They’d never done anything like this before — the parties that had happened at home had always been a place where they not only had to hide their connection to each other, but spend their time with those their friends and parents approved of, and that didn’t leave much room for dancing. Harry would always catch Louis looking at him, however, when he was dancing with Danielle, and to be here, in Louis’ arms, was everything. 

 

They swayed slowly on the spot, the world around them far away as they danced, and Louis’ hand came up to cup Harry’s cheek.

 

“ _ Je… J’aime ça. J’aime être ici, dans cette ville incroyable, avec toi... _ [I … I love this. I love being here, in this amazing city, with you.]”

 

Harry hummed, loving how Louis’ lips formed the French words, and he knew they were just for him.

 

“ _ J’aime ça aussi. C’est très bien comme ça. _ [I love it too. I wouldn’t want it any other way],” Harry replied, leaning in to touch his lips lightly to Louis’. He felt Louis gasp against his lips, and then Louis was everywhere. Harry could feel him everywhere — his hands explored Harry’s body in a way that they hadn’t since that one night all those weeks ago.

 

“ _ Tu es magnifique. Mon magnifique ange. _ [You’re so beautiful. My beautiful angel],” Louis murmured against Harry’s lips. 

Harry held back a whine and pulled away, leaning his forehead against Louis’. Neither of them had noticed that the music had stopped, and that the street performer was packing up and moving away from them. Harry caught his eye, and he winked before disappearing into the bustling crowd. 

 

“ _ Louis, rentrons, _ [Louis, take me home],” Harry breathed, and he felt Louis’ hand slip into his instantly, dragging him along back roads and alleys that they’d explored thoroughly during their week. 

 

The journey back to their hotel took longer than expected — Harry couldn’t keep his hands off Louis, and it seemed like Louis had the same problem. They stopped every few feet to kiss against brick walls, lips moving together seamlessly, craving more every time they touched. 

 

They stumbled into their room, and Harry kicked his shoes off, falling onto their bed with Louis on top of him, his shirt already unbuttoned. Harry dug his fingers into Louis’ hair, tugging on it as he pulled Louis into a kiss. 

 

“Off, off,  _ please _ ,” Louis whispered, and Harry discarded his shirt in seconds, pulling himself up the bed and watching Louis follow through glassy eyes. He couldn’t help but feel that Louis was much more desperate this time as compared to their first time, but then again, there wasn’t going to be any surprises this time — it was just them, just Harry and Louis.

 

Harry felt Louis’ warm, bare chest touch his own, their legs slotting together as their tongues explored each other’s mouths with increasing vigor. Harry couldn’t get enough of Louis — he tasted like the wine they’d had at dinner, bitter but in the best way. 

 

Their shorts and boxers found their way to the floor of their room somehow, until they were both bare for each other and wrapped in a tight embrace. Harry’s moans got higher with every finger that Louis worked into him, and he bit down on Louis’ shoulder, determined to leave his mark on the person he loved. 

 

His realization of his love for Louis didn’t shock him as much as he thought it would, but he didn’t want to say it out loud. He knew that if he did, it would ruin the atmosphere, the world in which they were living in this moment, and he couldn’t bear for that to happen. So he showed Louis, in every movement and in every kiss, pouring his heart out.

 

“Oh, god, Louis, I…  _ Tu… C’est tellement bon, _ [it feels so amazing],” Harry gasped as Louis’ hips met his body, Louis buried deep in him. Louis’ eyes were bright even in the semi-darkness of the room, and their curtains billowed in from the balcony doors, which they’d left open for the breeze. Harry felt it on his sweaty skin and he pulled Louis into another kiss as Louis’ hips began to move. 

 

“Harry…” Louis said his name like it was a prayer, soft and pleading and yearning, and his hips slowed almost to a stop as he stared down. Harry looked back up at him, so close and yet wanting the moment to last forever. 

 

“Lou, please, I’m—” Harry whined, but Louis just cupped his cheek, moving his hand to stroke through Harry’s curls. 

“I wanna look at you, Haz. Like this, just like this.”

 

Harry’s mouth fell open at that, and another moan was ripped from his throat as Louis pushed in, harder than before. The way Louis was looking at him made Harry want to cry — Louis looked so sad. 

 

“I just… I want to memorize you. Your face, your laugh, your eyes, the way you say my name.” Harry’s breath hitched and he reached out to hold Louis’ hips, letting his fingertips explore Louis’ skin. “I…  _ Oh, putain, _ [oh, fuck], I… I never want to lose any part of what we have, even if it becomes only memories.”

 

Harry could feel tears sliding down onto his face. He and Louis hadn’t talked about it, and Harry knew that Louis was avoiding it as much as he was, but this was the closest to a confirmation as Harry would get — they wouldn’t last after this night.

 

“Louis, please, I’m so close,” Harry whispered, his words shaky, and Louis placed his hands on Harry’s hips, holding him down as he pushed into him.

 

The distant traffic outside was the only other noise to accompany the symphony of gasps, groans, and the light slap of skin on skin, and Harry threw his head back against the headboard of the bed, his back arching as Louis filled him with every push of his hips.

 

It only took a few more movements for Harry to release with a cry of Louis’ name, and Louis pulled out swiftly, tugging himself until his release joined Harry’s on his soft stomach. Harry pulled Louis closer, pushing their mouths together as they continued to rut against each other. Soon it was quiet other than the casual beep of a car and their slow breathing as they lay there, cuddled together. 

 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Harry sniffed, still emotional from everything that had just happened, and Louis pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

 

“We’ll always have this, these moments,” Louis whispered in return, but Harry thought he could hear a note of sadness in his voice. He knew as well as Harry did that this, what they had, might end in the next 24 hours. But here he was, reassuring Harry, and Harry buried his face in Louis’ chest. They stayed like that, and Harry was almost asleep when he heard Louis utter one more word, speaking it into existence in the darkness. 

 

“Louis…”

 

Harry shifted, pulling Louis against him as much as he could, breathing out his own name to join Louis’ in the universe. 

 

“Harry…”

 

~

Their trip to the train station near  _ Ars-en-Ré _ was quiet, and the silence weighed on Harry. His hand was firmly in Louis’ as the bus trundled over the roads. Louis had made the decision to go back to the  _ La Rochelle _ with Harry to make sure he got home safely before taking a second train to the airport — but Harry didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Not now. Not that their time together was ultimately at its end. 

 

The train pulled into the station, about 45 minutes before Louis’ other train was due to arrive, and Harry took his time gathering his things and settling on a bench on the platform with Louis. 

 

They still didn’t speak, even as the platform filled and emptied and the train pulled out of the station. It seemed that Louis either didn’t want to speak or wasn’t sure what there was to be said either, and though Harry felt his feelings and emotions crushing him bit by bit, he rather preferred the silence to empty promises and broken goodbyes. 

 

The next train pulled in, and Harry sat up a little straighter, his hands clenched in his lap. He didn’t even dare look at Louis, for fear that he’d break down and beg him to stay. 

 

He felt Louis stand up and he walked away from Harry, moving towards the rapidly emptying train. Harry looked through his lashes as Louis handed his bags to the conductor, who took them with a smile and loaded them onto the car. 

 

Harry finally raised his head as Louis came back to him, and stood as Louis stopped in front of him. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, even as people began to load the train and the platform slowly emptied. 

 

“Have… Umm, have a safe trip home. And maybe call, you know, cause my parents, they’ll be wondering.”

 

“Yeah, I will, don’t worry.”

 

Harry could feel his lip trembling, but he didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to feel anything. He just wanted time to stop so that they never had to face what was right in front of them. 

 

Louis reached out and Harry pulled him into a hug. It was a tight hug, one that Harry said everything with, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t want to say goodbye. 

 

They stood there in each other’s arms until the train whistle sounded, and then broke apart. There were no words exchanged as Louis boarded the train and slid into a seat by the window. Harry looked up, hitching his bag onto his shoulder, and Louis turned, making eye contact with Harry through the slightly grimy window. 

 

The train began to move and Louis turned away from Harry, settling back into his seat, and Harry just stood there, until the train had disappeared from his sight, a mere speck in the distance. In a daze, he made his way to the small phone booth and picked it up, dialing a number he’d had memorized since birth. 

 

“ _ Bonjour, ici la maison des Styles. _ [Hello, you’ve reached the Styles’ residence.]”

 

“Sandra… It’s Harry,” Harry mumbled in English. “I… Umm, Louis’ just left…” Harry felt his throat burning as tears fell down his cheeks. His voice broke as he uttered his next words. “Can you come pick me up?”

 

After Sandra’s confirmation that she would indeed be there to fetch him in a little while, Harry sat back down on the floor of the station, his back against the wall. He dug his diary out of his bag. He wasn’t sure why he’d even brought it with him, but here he was, clutching the little book full of the lines and songs he’d written for Louis. Words that would never see the light of day. His pen scratched a few words into the bottom of the page, and the ink blurred as tears landed on the fresh words.

 

_ Il est parti là où mon coeur ne peut le suivre _

[He has gone where my heart can’t follow]


	5. Part 5

Harry moved back into his old room a few days after Louis’ departure. Louis had called, assuring Anne and Robin that he had made it home safely, and he missed them, but he hadn’t asked to talk to Harry, and Harry tried not to feel too badly about that. Louis was probably processing, same as he was, and he wasn’t quite sure what he would have said to Louis anyway. 

 

Harry hung his shirts on hangers and transferred them to the closet, pushing away every thought of Louis. He had to move on now, that was his job. He had to remember this summer and do nothing more.

 

His hand brushed something, and Harry dug for it, pulling out a slightly wrinkled blue shirt. It was a little big and probably dirty, but as Harry pressed it to his face, inhaling, he could still smell Louis on it. He sat down on the bed, hugging it to his chest. Sandra found him there hours later, and only coaxed him down to eat with the promise of extra  _ crêpes _ with extra chocolate. 

 

From that day on, through the end of summer and into autumn, Harry wore the blue shirt as often as he could. It was washed several times, and had lost Louis’ familiar and comforting smell, but it was still a part of him, something that Louis had left just for him, and Harry never wanted to let it go. 

 

Lyrics came to him more often than ever, even as he started up school again. He was always jotting down small lines, but instead of the longing of those that came before it, these were laments, written in hopes of dulling the ache in Harry every time he remembered those blue eyes or that dazzling smile. 

 

It was about three weeks after Louis’ departure that Harry woke early, heading downstairs to make himself some tea, and met his father in the kitchen.

 

“ _ Bonjour, Harry. Qu’est-ce que tu fais debout de si bon matin ? _ [Good morning, Harry. Why are you up so early]?” Robin asked, and Harry just shrugged, shaking his head. “Come. Sit with me.”

 

Harry obliged, sipping his tea and following his father into the main room, where they settled on the couch together, not bothering to turn any lights on as the sunrise cast a golden glow over the room.

 

They were silent for a bit, Harry drinking his tea slowly and Robin pulling out a cigarette, lighting it up and blowing the smoke out slowly.

 

“Something’s been weighing on you, my son,” Robin said slowly in English, and Harry turned to look at him, fiddling with the hem of Louis’ blue shirt, which he’d worn to bed, too tired to discard it the night before. 

 

Harry shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. Just a lot going on at school, that’s all.”

 

“I’m your father, Harry. I know when something’s troubling you.” Robin took a last puff of his cigarette and then put it out in the ashtray on the table. “Right now, you may not want to feel anything, and maybe you never will. And maybe… Maybe you don’t want to speak to your father about these things, but… Obviously, you felt something, and you shouldn’t feel badly for it.”

 

Harry sat there, his hand frozen on his cup. How could his father possibly know anything… Sandra wouldn’t have said something, would she?

 

Robin cleared his throat, obviously wanting to continue, and Harry stared fixedly at the remaining dregs of tea in his cup. 

 

“You had a beautiful friendship — maybe even more than a friendship, and I envy you.”

 

Harry opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, but the look on his father’s face silenced him. He couldn’t lie to him.

 

“In my place, most parents, well, they’d wait for it all to go away, and pray their sons land on their feet, but… I’m not like that. I just want you to be happy, no matter where you find that happiness. And I know you don’t want to hurt right now, but you can’t push it away. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster, we refuse to feel because we think that will make it better, but each time we give away a piece of ourselves, a piece of our heart, until we go bankrupt. To make yourself feel nothing, so as not to feel anything? What a waste.”

 

Harry looked away, feeling tears brimming in his eyes. Out of all the things his father could have said, this wasn’t what Harry had expected at all, and it both warmed his heart and broke it into smaller pieces. 

 

“ _ J’ai dit quelque chose de déplacé ? _ [Have I spoken out of turn]?” Robin asked quietly, his voice the only sound penetrating the coolness of the room. Harry didn’t have a response. He wasn’t even sure he could talk about anything regarding Louis without hurting himself more than he already was. “Then I’ll say one more thing, something that might clear the air, I suppose. I… I may have come close, but I never had what you two have. Something always held me back, or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business, just… Remember: our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once, and before you know it, your heart’s worn out. And as for your body, there comes a point where no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it.”

 

Harry’s throat was tight, his eyes were full of tears, but for some reason, he couldn’t cry. Maybe it was years of practice holding back emotions in front of his parents, or maybe it was the fact that too many emotions were swirling in his mind for his body to focus on just the one, but he just sat there, staring at his father as he continued to speak. 

 

“Right now, there’s sorrow, and pain, but if you try to kill it, you’ll kill the joy you felt, and that’s something you don’t deserve to lose.”

 

Harry swallowed, a few tears sliding down his cheeks, and only one question came to mind. 

 

“ _ Est-ce que maman le sait ? _ [Does Mom know]?”

 

Robin looked at him, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t think she does.”

 

Harry nodded, and he felt his father’s arm go around him in a gesture of comfort. He let him, not saying a word, and they sat there until the sun had risen fully, and the room was full of a bright, golden light. And that was just that. 

 

~

 

When the first snow of the year fell (a rarity, but something Harry always wished for), Harry was finally beginning to feel okay. He still missed Louis. He still wore his shirt on most days. He still woke in the middle of the night sometimes, thinking that he could feel Louis sleeping behind him, holding him. But on the whole, he didn’t feel like he was being crushed. That feeling had subsided to a dull ache — sometimes it was there, and he felt it, and sometimes it wasn’t. 

 

The phone rang, and Harry looked up from his diary. He waited, hearing it ring four more times, before he stood up and walked into the hallway, picking up the phone himself. 

 

“ _ Allô ? _ [Hello?]” 

 

“Harry… Hi.”

Harry very nearly collapsed into the chair next to the phone, that soft, musical, raspy voice making his entire body go numb in the most pleasurable of ways. 

 

“Louis. I… I’ve missed you. So much.” Harry’s brain was short-circuiting as every memory, every moment spent with Louis, flashed through his mind. He could only manage those words.

 

He heard Louis laugh on the other end, and then he was speaking again, and there was nothing in the world for Harry other than the sound of his voice.

 

“I’ve missed you too. Very much.”

 

There was silence for a moment, and Harry just sat there, listening to Louis’ breaths on the other end. 

 

“Are your parents home? I’d hoped to wish them a happy holiday, if I could.”

 

Harry looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “They’re actually making dinner right now. Sandra’s on her month off for the holidays.” When there was silence again, Harry asked the question that had been burning in him since the moment Louis had said his name. “So… Are you thinking of visiting?”

 

“I actually have been considering it, yes. I miss France.” There was something in his voice that had changed, Harry now noticed. Something that made him sound older, more sophisticated. “But not this year. I… I’ve got some news.”

 

“News? Oh, I suppose you’re getting married or something,” Harry joked, grinning to himself.

 

“Yes, I am. Or, I plan to, anyway.”

 

It took a moment, but when the words registered in Harry’s brain, he forgot how to breathe. It was like every ounce of happiness, of hope and joy that he’d held onto and experienced since he’d picked up the phone, had been sucked out of him. Three words. That’s all it took.

 

“Oh.” It was all Harry could think of to say. He had known all along that Louis was much less comfortable with himself than he was, but he’d thought, after their summer together, maybe… “You never said anything…”

 

“It’s been off and on for a few years. Her name, umm … her name is Eleanor.”

 

Harry swallowed down every single horrible thing that was coming to mind. Louis didn’t deserve that. “That’s wonderful news. I guess congratulations are in order.”

 

Louis sighed out a breath on the other end of the line, almost like he was preparing himself to say something. “Do you mind?”

 

Before Harry could even consider what he might have said to that, he heard his parents pick up on the other line, and Louis repeated again that he planned to ask this Eleanor to marry him. Harry held the phone to his chest, trying to take in deep breaths so he wouldn’t cry. This was exactly how it was supposed to go. He had accepted that a long time ago, or so he’d thought. 

 

“Harry? Harry, you there?”

 

Harry lifted the phone to his ear again. “Yeah. M’here.”

 

“Your parents let me off to talk to you. Very excited, they both were.”

 

“They know about us, you know. My dad does, anyway.” Harry whispered, and there was a moment of silence. 

 

“I figured they might. We weren’t exactly the best at keeping secrets.” Harry felt his mouth twitch up in a smile. “You’re lucky. If my stepdad knew, he would cart me off to a correctional facility.”

 

“Harry.”

 

Harry didn’t know what made him say it. So much was going on in his mind, he wasn’t thinking straight, but a part of him was desperate to know that Louis remembered what it was like to be together. He wanted to remind Louis of what they had, how special it had been, at least to him. He wanted Louis to tell him that he felt it too, that it had never gone away, that he hadn’t forgotten. He repeated it, again and again and again, until his voice was little more than a whisper, a plea. 

 

The silence on the other end was deafening, and then…

 

“Louis…”

 

Tears filled Harry’s eyes, his heart swelling and deflating all at once.

 

“I remember everything.”

 

Harry felt an incredible pain begin to bloom in his chest, something that he’d held at bay for so long now. He said his goodbyes, not wanting to draw it out any longer than he had to, and hung up, making his way back to his chair in front of the fire, where he’d been writing. He picked up his journal, but his vision blurred as the pain and realization seeped into every part of his body. He sank down to the floor in front of the hearth, tears sliding down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. 

 

Louis remembered everything. He remembered what it had been like to be with Harry, how happy he’d been. Him repeating his own name back to Harry had proven that. And yet, he was choosing something else. He was choosing the way of life that had been forced upon him for all those years, choosing to live hidden rather than to life free.  It was a life that Harry would never be a part of. Louis had moved on, just like Harry always knew he would. And just like that, those two souls that had been lucky enough to find each other during a summer in France, were torn apart, never to meet again. 

 

~

 

Harry refused to talk about it, even when his father had found him asleep by the hearth, tears still drying on his cheeks. Louis called a few more times, or at least, Harry assumed he did, because there were several times that he walked into a room and his father left it, phone pressed to his ear. 

 

He helped pick out their new exchange student for the next summer, a girl by the name of Monica Bisset, an American who was majoring in French politics. He was happy to have been a part of it, but the fun that was usually associated with it, the anticipation and the excitement, was gone. Harry felt flat, almost like he couldn’t feel anything, excitement, pain, or otherwise. 

 

The holiday season was upon them, and even the gardener, who came oftentimes for dinner, noticed something different about him. Harry couldn’t find it in him to care. 

 

He decorated and he baked and he filled two more diaries with lyrics, but nothing could get him out of the funk he was in. He hated it. He hated Louis for doing this, for putting him here, in this place of heartbreak that he would probably never escape from. 

 

And yet he loved Louis — he longed for him and he dreamed about him and he couldn’t go a day without remembering him. Was this how it was supposed to be, moving on? Or was this him clinging to the only thing he had left of Louis now — memories?

 

As Christmas Eve approached, he started to feel slightly less burdened. He could sleep through the night again. He could breathe normally without feeling constricted. He smiled more. And he played the piano and guitar with renewed vigor. Throwing himself into things like that kept him distracted. 

 

He woke up on Christmas Eve to a fresh dusting of snow — the record low temperatures allowed for it, apparently — and a house that smelled of Christmas cakes and pies and duck breast and the yule log. He busied himself all day with the preparations. Their neighbors — the ones who stayed for the winter — would be coming over for a dinner. Sandra would be here too, with her husband to be. Harry was excited to finally see people other than his family. He was prepared to talk about anything and everything and have a night that was special, a night that he loved and cherished every single year. 

 

The food was amazing, as per usual, and the house was alight and warm with the presence of friends. Harry smiled and chatted easily with them, and finally, he felt free again. This was his life. He loved his life. He loved living in France and he loved these people and nothing could change that. Even Nadine gave him a smile and a hug when she arrived with  _ Monsieur et Madame Leopold _ [Mr. and Mrs. Leopold], and he felt like things might finally be able to start going right again. 

 

Harry kept to himself, for the most part, as the party continued in full swing. Everywhere he looked, he saw couples. men and women cozying up together and toasting the Christmas season. It didn’t exactly put him in the Christmas mood. 

 

“ _ Qu’est-ce qu’il t’arrive, mon coeur ? _ [What’s got you down, love?]” a voice asked from behind him, and Harry turned to see Sandra standing there, her eyes sparkling and a glass of white wine in her hand. Harry shook his head.

 

“ _ Rien. _ [It’s nothing.] Just not used to feeling so lonely in a room full of people.”

 

Sandra tilted her head to one side, and Harry sighed, settling down with her in two recently abandoned chairs near the edge of the kitchen. 

 

“I know you miss him.”

 

Harry felt a sudden surge of anger at Sandra’s words. He didn’t miss Louis. He refused to miss Louis. 

“Why does everyone always think that? Maybe I’m sad for other reasons — it’s not always about a boy,” Harry grumbled, and Sandra raised her hands in defense.

 

“Alright, my love. Sorry I said anything. I just want to see you smile a bit more.”

 

Harry offered her a small smile, and he knew she could see right through it, but it was all he could muster as the anger drained out of him, leaving the sadness behind. “It’s alright. Sorry I yelled. I just…  _ Je ne sais pas. _ [I don’t know.]”

 

Sandra smiled and stood, brushing her hand against Harry’s cheek. “You’ll know eventually. I must get back… Gabriel is waiting for me.”

 

She walked off in the direction of her fiance, and Harry stayed where he was, feeling more alone than ever. Even Sandra had someone. And he had no one. Not anymore.

 

Harry helped his parents and Sandra clean up after everyone had left. Mounds of dishes were returned to their usually sparkling state and stored away for the next year. Food was packaged and stuck in the  _ frigo _ [refrigerator] for the next day or frozen for a later time. 

 

His parents then retired to their bedroom, and Harry said goodnight to Sandra and her fiance. He then made his way around the house, blowing out every single candle that his parents had lit for the celebrations. 

 

It was nearly midnight by the time Harry had turned off all the lights and was making his way to the main hallway for the last candle. 

 

He made his way upstairs after that, determinedly ignoring the creaking of the wooden stairs. It had only spoken of Louis since the day he’d arrived in France all those months ago. Harry no longer wanted to hear it. 

 

He crawled into bed, pulling his diary towards him to write one last thing before bed, as he had taken up doing the last few weeks. He thought for a moment, staring out the window, where little flakes were starting to flutter past.

 

_ La blancheur de la neige me rappelle ton éclat. Mais la neige fond. _

[The snow reminds me of your brightness. But snow melts.]

 

He sat there for a bit more, his writing becoming sloppier the angrier he got. Where his anger was coming from, he wasn’t quite sure, but his long buried feelings of resentment were starting to surface, resulting in lines that Harry wasn’t even sure he liked, but it made him feel better.

 

_ La frontière entre l’amour et la haine est mince  — mais quel sentiment est le plus puissant ? _

[There is a fine line between love and hate - but which is more powerful?]

 

_ Il envahit mon esprit comme les démons de la nuit _

[He plagues my mind like the demons of the night]

 

_ Je suis fort, mais la douleur est encore plus forte _

[I am strong, but the pain is stronger?]

 

Closing his diary and tucking it under his mattress, Harry turned over, pulling his blanket up to cover his shoulders as his eyes slipped closed.

 

There was a knock on the downstairs door. Harry opened his eyes, wondering if he was going crazy, but a moment later, the knock came again, more insistent this time. Harry sat up, throwing the covers off himself. He didn’t want to leave whoever it was out in the cold. 

 

He made his way downstairs in the dark, his bare feet slapping the cold wood, and a small gust of wind blew his hair back as he opened the door. 

 

“Harry… I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me, but will you please let me in? I just want to talk to you. I need to talk to you, actually.”

 

Harry just stood there, frozen to the spot, as Louis stared back at him. He wasn’t sure what to do — he wanted to punch Louis and kiss him in equal measure, and he didn’t trust himself not to do either. Eventually, he stood aside, allowing Louis to step over the threshold and into the dark house. Without looking back to see if Louis was following, Harry walked towards the main room, where the dying fire was still casting the softest of glows onto the furniture. He settled in a chair and looked up to see Louis standing there nervously. 

 

“Well. You said you wanted to talk. Please do. I’d really love to hear what you have to say.” He knew he sounded sarcastic, but he didn’t care. His anger was overriding every other feeling he might have been having, and it was taking him every ounce of self control he had not to yell at Louis. 

 

Louis had the decency to look ashamed and he shrugged off his jacket, placing it on the couch. “I, uh… I’m not getting married.”

 

Harry’s mouth dropped open, and he snapped it shut, determined not to give Louis the satisfaction of getting any reaction from him. 

 

“So?”

 

“So, I came here… After I ran away from my own proposal. Because out of all the people I wanted to be with in that moment, you were first on my list. You’ve been first for a long time.”

 

Harry stood up now. He was restless — he couldn’t possibly sit still when Louis was staring at him like that. His blue eyes held so many emotions, so many words unspoken, and Harry hated that he could see all that from a single glance. 

 

“I was going to do it. I really was. I had the ring in my hand, Harry. But I just… I would think about it, about how she would say yes, and we would plan a wedding and get married and have children and start the family my parents have always wanted for me, and I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it. All I wanted was you. And when it came down to it, what you thought of me mattered more to me than what Eleanor and my parents would say if I told them the truth. So I did. I told them everything.”

 

Harry stopped, finally looking up and making eye contact with Louis. His eyes were glassy with tears, and Harry felt his heart break for him, despite his insistence to not ever feel anything for Louis again. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what had happened next, but he didn’t dare interrupt.

 

“They weren’t happy. My step-dad went on for ages about how I was going to ruin the family honor or whatever if I didn’t step up and do the right thing. And I told him that you were the only right thing in my life, and that if family honor was all that mattered to him, I didn’t want to be a part of his family anymore. And I left. And came here.”

 

Harry’s throat was tight, very tight, but he swallowed it down as he finally found his voice again. “And what did you think was going to happen when you got here, Lou?” He winced as the old nickname slipped past his lips. “You thought I’d just… Fall into your arms and take you back and tell you that I waited for you? Because I didn’t. I gave you my heart, all of it, and you threw it away like la  _ poubelle d’hier _ [yesterday’s garbage] for a girl your parents approved of, just because you didn’t want to be who you are — because you didn’t want to be gay. Well guess what? You’re gay. I’m gay. Here we are, existing in a world where most people don’t want to accept us because we’re different.” Harry was breathing hard now, his anger rising, but he could also feel his heart longing for Louis’ embrace. He fought it, hard. “I was terrified of my parents finding out. I kept it from them for so long, and told myself that if I hid long enough, it would go away. And then you came along and changed my life. I thought with you, I could finally be free of the burden I placed on myself. And I thought you understood that.”

 

He watched Louis wipe the tears off his cheeks and forced himself not to comfort him. Louis had to understand the magnitude of what he’d done

 

“I… I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever wanted. I just d-didn’t know how to… I still don’t know how…  _ Je t’aime, Harry. _ [I love you, Harry.]”

 

Harry’s breath hitched as the words left Louis’ mouth. He’d never said them before, and the French rolled off his tongue with so much yearning that Harry felt the sobs building in his chest.

 

“I love you. I know I never said it, but I felt it, every single moment I was with you, I felt it. I didn’t want to feel it — I didn’t want to be gay. I didn’t want to be an abomination to my family. But it didn’t matter, because you drew me in like no one else ever had. You made me feel like it was okay to be who I was. You never judged me, even when I was horrible to you. You were a constant, something that I could look at and know would always be there, no matter what. And now I’ve lost you, and I don’t know what to do.”

 

Harry was shaking, his cheeks wet with tears, but he didn’t know what to say. His heart was telling him to take Louis back, to pull him into his arms and never let go, but his mind remembered the torment, the torture of knowing Louis was never going to be his. He was stuck. 

 

Louis was watching him, waiting, but Harry had nothing, and Louis’ expression deflated. He reached for his jacket. “I… I thought marrying Eleanor would fix everything. But it did the opposite. Someone very special taught me that the thing you want and the thing that’s right are two different things, and sometimes it’s important to follow your heart instead of your head. That’s why I came here. But I can see now that I’m too late. It’s my own fault, and for that, I cannot be more sorry.”

 

Harry watched as Louis made his way towards the hallway, turning back at the last moment. 

 

“ _ Je t’aime, Harry Styles. Je t’aime, et je suis désolé. _ [I love you, Harry Styles. I love you, and I’m sorry.]”

 

Harry’s breath came in gasps as he heard the door close. Louis was gone. Again. But Harry didn’t want him to go. No matter what he’d done, no matter how he’d acted, Harry couldn’t bear losing him a second time. 

 

He stumbled from the room and down the hallway, wrenching the front door open and hurrying across the garden barefoot. He had to reach Louis, he had to. 

 

He skidded on the snow-damp grass as he turned the corner to their driveway, and saw Louis opening his car door. He sprinted out over the gravel and dirt and Louis looked up, his eyes widening. 

 

Harry hit him in a hug that nearly sent both of them toppling into the dirt, but they managed to stay on their feet. 

 

“Please don’t go, Louis. Not again. Don’t leave.”

 

Harry felt warm inside with Louis’ arms around him. He didn’t feel the tingling numbness in his feet or the chill on his bare arms. Louis was holding him and Harry felt whole again. 

 

Harry pulled back from the hug to look into Louis’ face, into those brilliant blue eyes that had always amazed him. He took in every angle of his face, his hair brushing over his forehead, everything. 

 

“Harry, what…” Louis was confused. Of course he was, Harry hadn’t said anything, he’d just tackled him with no explanation. He needed to speak now. 

 

“I don’t want you to go. Please don’t leave me. I… I’m miserable without you. I don’t know how to… I…” Harry felt himself panicking now, realizing that Louis might just leave him again. He might turn around and leave and never look back, and he needed Louis to stay. 

 

“I won’t go if you don’t want me to,” Louis said softly, and that was all Harry needed to hear. He pushed himself forward, pressing their lips together.

 

Harry felt Louis’ hold on him grow tighter as they both pulled themselves as close to each other as they could. Harry didn’t think he could have let go if he tried. They stood there for ages, their lips never breaking contact, until they were breathless and chilled by the snow falling in large flakes now around them. 

 

“ _ Je t’aime aussi, tu sais, _ [I love you, too, you know],” Harry whispered as they leaned their foreheads together, and he could feel Louis’ smile as he kissed him again. 

  
“ _Je sais._ [I know.]”


End file.
